I have never baked a cake at midnight before.
Sifting flour and cocoa, knowing you sleep in my bed upstairs
Exhausted eyes finally grew heavy .
We didn't brush your teeth or hair.
I will be up until quarter of two tonight, cleaning.
Every year further from that night
when low thunder and summer rain guided you into the world.
Further from the wonder and disbelief at hearing birdsong
from behind the shaded windows
having no sense of time or space
amazed that hours had passed
and found the bluish first light of dawn
Further every year from my belly
heavy and exquisitely soft
marked by silvery fish scales
and shadowed in plum,
my breasts weeping milk.
I have long since surrendered to the of each passing moment
Grieving, celebrating, grieving,
the everything of our days.