My husband brings the baby and a kiss
to where I lie in milk-wet sheets,
ripe as a pomegranate,
slick and sweet.
Hello, little slippery mouth, hello
my blind little fish, right here
my squirming one,
all searching lips and squinched eyes,
limp as soon as he latches,
cheek and eyelid beaded with milk.
Already the air at the screen
is heavy and still, muffling the last
intermittent bursts of birdsong.
Look at me lounging, an odalisque.
One by one the neighbors
close their car doors and drive away,
pausing to look both ways at the corner,
sipping the coffee in their silver travel cups.
Emily Tuszynska is a writer and a mother of three young children living in Fairfax, Virginia. Her poems can be seen in a number of digital and print literary magazines, including Literary Mama (forthcoming), Crab Orchard Review, Rhino, and Southern Poetry Review.