Poems & Essays

23 Mar

New Mom

General/Column No Response

In the folds of deep night,

I hold you,

sift through my new confusion

and anxiety while you

pull nutrition from my nipple

like a demanding sound,

a night bird outside speaks briefly of

some encroachment or celebration.


Now my hands relax as

the daily smell of skin and lips

drifts into my face.

I leave myself behind a moment,

let something open and bloom,

as the July dawn pads in quietly

with amber and apricot,

and my anguish drifts away.


Heidi Morrell lives and writes in Los Angeles, is married and lives in a big old house with her two kids, patient husband, one dog and two cats. She’s been ardently writing since age nine, but only in the last three years, began to submit her work to the wider world. Some of those publications include magazines, anthologies and e-zines, among them: East Coast literary Review; Poised in Flight Anthology, Hurricane Press; Emerge Literary Journal; Poetry Pacific; Rotary Dial, Canadian; Outside In Lit & Travel Magazine, and a forthcoming Chapbook from Finishing Line Press. She also writes short stories, several of which have been published.

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