I’m trying to keep caffeine from contaminating my breast milk because it blasts my baby from alert to berserk which further darkens the purple smudges swimming under my pale blue eyes.
Then, he cries, and lickety
split I’m to his side
lifting him from his crib
into the cradle of my arms.
I watch his eyes connect with mine, they’re violet blue, shinier than the south shore water, a pair of periwinkles twinkling light back to me
lilting me to a new plane
a sparkling white sheet on a tired mattress
a glittering glacier walked on
by mothers everywhere
with tired eyes and unwashed hair.
I rise to the wonder of birth and rebirth.
Monica Flegg lives on Nantucket Island with her husband and two children. Her work has been published in; the Aurorean, Awake, A Nantucket Writer’s Workshop in Print, The Pine Island Journal of New England Poetry and PostScripts.