Before I Loved You

Where was joy,
if not in the basket
I brought you home in,
your face pinched red
like a cartoon character,
an emaciated Mr. Magoo?

Your full head of gold hair,
I should be so lucky
to have you so pretty,
so well formed
between my hip bones.

I grieve to have you out of me.
I bleed for a month -
complications.
The tiny frown of your umbilicus
stump fades.

I keep watch,
lest your breath falter,
but I do not love you yet.
That will come months later,
as you grow round in yourself,
as your eyes focus on what you want,
the red of your rattle.

The day I came to love you,
the sparrows were at the feeder,
ravening the seeds for their nestlings -
all of nature, anxious.
It was then I realized that the birds
were not singing, but shrieking,
“Live! Live!”

Lucy Simpson, 2/21/2012