Poems & Essays

04 Mar

February 2006

Babyhood No Response

I knew your eyes
were brown
when you were born,
puckered fat
over the supple bone,
blossomed breaths
fluttered the satin trim
blanket that
swaddled you
from the peek-a-boo
eyes of the world
beyond your slumber.
Each time you cooed
and stirred,
my ears recoiled
against old routines;
quick legs tangled
between the earth’s
shadows and
the air’s curiosity,
to your bassinet,
where the aerial glow
of the night’s light
was strewing a mosaic
of pale gold over
your sleeping form.
Oh, darling, you were
a perennial burning
for my compressed fuel,
circuit of lullabies
that cushioned my long
settling over the divan,
a faultless crest of
perfect margins,
laying snugged inside
the rhythms that not
even I, your mother,
could decode.


A Pushcart nominee, Lana Bella is an author of two chapbooks forthcoming from Crisis Chronicles Press and Finishing Line Press, has had her poetry and fiction featured with over 180 journals, Chiron Review, Coe Review, Columbia Journal, Elohi Gadugi, Foundling Review, Fourth & Sycamore, Galway Review, Gravel Review, Harbinger Asylum, Literary Orphans, Lost Coast Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, Poetry Quarterly, Roanoke Review, Sentinel Quarterly, Toasted Cheese, and elsewhere, among others. She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps. https://www.facebook.com/niaallanpoe

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