She wakes…

She wakes

eyes squinted

six thirty am

after cries

softly at first

whispers I hear

from where

we sleep

escalating

if I wait

too long

occasionally

to piercing screams

near terror

it seems

but it is only

hunger –

one might think

starvation

if not for knowing

this occurs

every two or three hours

twenty four hours a day.

Her infant eyes

Are now open

blinking rapidly

as the tiny hands

rub her petite chocolate face

palms out

forehands rubbing

covering long lashes

as she blinks against

the light

with those almond dark eyes

sparkling black orbs

poured in pure white porcelain

looking out

on this mysterious grand world.

Six fifteen am

crying out again

as I stand over her bed

comforting her

my hand covering her chest

rocking gently

she is

whimpering out loud

or smiling

sometimes laughing.

She is

lifted up

in a bundle

out of her borrowed crib

then laid down again

for clean clothes

and a dry diaper.

Moments later,

I crack the blinds

allowing a blue morning light

to illuminate her explorations.

Feet kicking

curling up

grinning or crying

alternatively

she is navigating her own

hands –

finger by finger

feet – toe by toe,

latching onto anything

close by.

Snaps are undone

and resnapped again

then –

gas drops inserted

into her bottle

formula measured,

vitamins added,

and iron,

Aveeno and hydrocortesone 1%

rubbed and applied,

for one week only -

or nose drops

if necessary

but always a mirror –

reflecting

what we want to see

revealing what

we want her to be

cooing or crying

pacifiers lying close by

singing

if required

for calming the wild animal

in the babies’ body.

Most any lullaby

or melody will do,

but particularly

she quiets at Cat Stevens - “Harold and Maude” soundtrack

“If you wanna be you be you,

if you wanna be me be me,

cause there’s a million things to be…

..and ya know there are…”

I sing,

I change her,

we chat

she and I

we understand one another

for those few moments

in looks – without words

but it is

a communication

unknown to those

without children perhaps,

a deep resonant

understanding –

of safety and belonging.

I am slow sometimes

waking from a deep sleep

she is hungry

she cries out – even

screams

louder still

“I will never eat again”

I call it – and I

move more quickly

or put a pacifier

in her mouth to soothe her

then –

instantaneous quiet arrives

gratification sets in

and the cooing begins.

The diet of infants

is perfect at four months

the slow change from formula

or breast to soft foods

and by four and a half months

ever more changes.

At eight am it’s peas

and apples and pears

in tiny glass ware jars

the small bottle warmer

the alarm clock charmer

and the plastic baby spoon

become your new best friends

and the dishwasher

is indispensable – it seems

yet -

I wonder about the families

the children in Mumbai slums

at the edge of the airport

existing on crumbs.

How do they survive -

when the fierce crying from hunger

comes so often -

I wonder about the muck

how do so many stay alive

the pluck – the grist

to thrive on nothing.

At five months

she not only finds her hands,

but every finger,

she discovers the ability

to hold a pacifier

I see the amazement on her face

she explores every side –

gives complete attention

then throws it away

eyes light up in a way

making every thing new

in this seemingly

advanced civilization.

Our nights are ever inexplicable

our sleep still unattainable

yet the crying and laughter

are all one and the same

at times – a celebration

for me and my love

as when a prerecorded lullaby

comes on without warning

at five in the morning.

Bleary eyed

without sleep –

I push buttons

to stop it

and as monitor skips

one lullaby to the next –

we burst out laughing.

in a moment of joy

as our exhaustion is shared

there with the tinny sounds

of an unwanted lullaby.

Doug Claybourne – for LD. Napier – on her Birthday 03.16.12

Copyright © 2012. Doug Claybourne .All Rights Reserved.