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literature

Who Is Your Mother

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Daily Deviation

October 23, 2014

Who Is Your Mother by fernknits presents new motherhood frankly; like the real thing, it packs ineffable love and messy ickyness side by side

Featured by ShadowedAcolyte

fernknits

Published: Oct 30, 2013

2K Views

Literature Text

There is no tired like new-mother,

rock-breasted, bleeding,

brand-new mother exhausted.

Sleep a while; please sleep a while.

I tuck your arms into soft fleece, mark the 'O'

of your tiny mouth as I do it, crook you

in one elbow. We are surely alone, and slip

into dreams, you and this woman

who is your mother, drowning together

in pillows, bed-sheets, down.

There is no fear like new-mother,

groggy, incision-pain, narcotic-haze,

frantic new-mother terror. Sleep

a while; please sleep a while.

My heart lurches -- stops -- breaks.

I jolt across the bed, scanning

your tiny face for breathing signs,

a twitch, a sigh. We are still alone

and when you move, I crook you back

into my elbow. Sleep a while.

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A response to Anne Sexton's "Her Kind." My daughter loves soft things, probably more than anything else in the world, and the first time I put her in her brand-new fleece sleep sack, her expression turned to one of delighted surprise. I will never forget that moment.