6 posts tagged “baby”
Leaving the Hospital
I am climbing the golden stairway of my hair
to the sweet hereafter
a flute is playing and I wonder if it is real
music of heaven and I am deceased
my legs somewhat numb
but no, I see the flautist in his tuxedo
I half expect him to have donkey ears
but he does not, so he is really here
my companion assures me of his reality
and the reality of the music
and that in fact I am alive
and that the baby in the car-seat
is our own baby with her thin patch
of red hair and her white knit bonnet
looking like a child of another era
an error of the anachronism the car-seat
and the shiny white hospital lobby floor
The flautist plays his Caliendo concerto
inspired by Corot's gypsy painting
I will lay in the night later
with no guitar
only the baby with her face
pale as a moon
Lucy Simpson, Seattle, 11/5/2009
My three-year-old daughter really pissed me off today with her whining, so I spent the evening looking at her baby pictures. Now I find myself looking at her as she sleeps, only love in me. Here are some photos taken with my cell phone in 2005. I edited them in Picassa. She had red hair as a baby, a little shock of it on her crown - like a flame. Now her hair is a lovely strawberry blond. I am not going to have any other babies and find myself feeling nostalgic for the chubby little, perfect ones, who seem so in their bodies - so in the moment. There is a certain sadness that this stage in my life in over - the baby-raising, lactating period.
Post-Partum
for Bridget
all summer, the baby sleeps
curling into herself
waiting as aspen leaves turn gold
a pale fire on the spires
of mountains blue in evening
a chill comes when she is born
and carries off the leaves
leaving naked gnarled trees
to greet us
someone plays a flute in the hospital
is it real or imagined?
when we exit the sterile
into the germ-rich world
with all its growths
not least of all our own buddings
and protrusions
My breasts like fruit
heavy for her pink
mouth
which opens to
draw nectar
to grow beyond
her own emaciated
monkey-self
into the cherub
of Madonnas
not this ancient
with skin as onion peel
and eyes as hot flames
Her skin,
it does not fit
as if she has not decided
to keep it
Part of her soul
still in amnion
drifts in time
to the beginning and ending
when I will suck in a last
then curl into the dark
Lucy Simpson 6/4/2007, revised 3/15/2009
memory of mother
lull lull lullaby
your voice is a rope
rocked rocked rocking
no cry shush shush now
I remember you
hushing me calm
on the night seas
of gastric distemper
your smell
of onions and sweat
your smell of mother
of comfort
la la la la
I remember you
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
1/2009
Evolution
the gecko curls his feet
in fetal bliss
wax worm fed
eyes shuttered against light
as when he sat in his egg
content in warm goo
dreaming nothingness
and then a light
cracking through
calling him
to break the shell
and struggle out
hungering
I passed through ages
in mother's womb
floating in bliss
a lumpy egg
lizard-tailed
pig-snouted
I looked like swine
before I assumed
my primate shape
little skinny monkey
wrinkled
pale as an onion
or the moon
upon the sea
of my mother
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
7/1/2008
La
thinks the baby
I will eat the house
When it grows tiny
a lozenge on my tongue
it will cure aches
I will taste the trees
singing green
crack of wood
and bird bone
The sky will
fill my mouth
float me up
past blue
La
thinks the baby
I am that am
a burning bush
a bird of egg
a milk biscuit
1/21/2006 Lucy Simpson
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