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1 a.m., Nearly 2, Late summer
You came so clean
The others were envious
So wizened, you looked
Already, despite your newness:
An upturned face scrunched
Hands folded, lotus-like
Clasped and overlapped
So quizzical and bright
Immediately reaching.
Instinct taking over
What love!
There is no comparison
Yet found to match this.
You took over distances
In that room
Rocking us through and through
My love
My love
My little cub
My little lion
© 2007, Kris Underwood -- Kris Underwood still doesn't write as much in her journals as she would like, but can be found on her blog, Writing In The Mountains, pondering the ups and downs of motherhood and life in general.
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