My daughter (I can finally say that!), my daughter what is
Christmas to a Jew? And what is New Years when we/you were just born.
The NICU is no place for loving you,
there are never enough nurses for this world.
Like music, the world is measured by your
breath, an alarm is all we fear.
You paw at my chest like an animal, because you
are an animal.
You search/seek out sustenance when all I can
provide is song and warmth.
I sweat with the different instruments pressed
to our skin.
While your mother is somewhere else, I am your
mother for this instant, and song is your mother.
The tones coming out of me are all we can know since infancy is everything, it is everything we
do.
Little blank of my measure, little
rupture, hiccup to erupt, read the world in milk.
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