Friday March 15, 2019
Orange is The New Black
In the middle of the night
I’m listening to your rise and fall,
A breath I know by heart, tracing
the outline of your dreaming,
a sound in which magic thrives, a place
where the edges are soft, and there’s
I walk to the bathroom, holding
my heavy belly in both my hands, tracking
the street lamp light with half-open eyes.
We found each other again in the tangle
of bed sheets and tongues, discovering
how to do this in all the Pisces
fullness. It’s taken patience.
It always does.
Back in bed I try to fall back to sleep,
turning from one side to the other, a pillow
between my leg, a pillow
where you were.
I write poems to our daughter
in the air with my pointer finger,
my counting sheep.