Postpartum
I keep coming back,
keep climbing the stairs
to push the button
that lets the slow notes fall,
keep making my face rise
like the moon over your crib,
keep letting my hand
be the weight to teach
your small body stillness.
Like lilies your fists unfurl.
Dusk obscures the corners
of the room, and the walls
expand, the way each day
since you came
has become an ocean,
the sharp pull of your need
through the shapeless hours
the thing that keeps me
from drowning.
Latest posts by sundresspublications (see all)
- Project Bookshelf: Rachel Bulman - May 1, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Affidavit by Starr Davis - May 1, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Affidavit by Starr Davis - April 30, 2026
