Between Story-time, Mud Puddles, and Lunch
His plump infant belly melds into my soft belly with it's silvery stretch marks(flashes of fish in a pond.)
Our breathing syncs
together. Each day after the first marks a step farther
that he moves
from me. In these quiet moments we are new
again; we are one body again, recycling blood
between us. His breath
smells faintly of milk he has taken from my breast. A contended sigh sneaks past
blushed lips -the noise stirs the lazy cat blanketing my toes - he settles
into sleep. The same sun beams curl up against our skin.
This poem is about:
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: