Angel Boy

Wrapped loosely in a flannel blanket,
wet with your placental blood and amniotic fluid,
you look at me with dark wide-set eyes
but you claim me as yours as you
blaze a brand upon my heart.

(4 Weeks)
On a Saturday night I will never forget,
your mother calls me to the hospital ER.
She thinks you’ve stopped breathing,
and she bursts into tears, pleading with me
to spend the night at the hospital with you
because she says she can't. Into my arms,
she places my heart.

(2 Months)
Your mother says, “Grammie and Hunter
have a special bond,” as you follow me
across the room with your eyes, mewing like
a kitten for me to pick you up and cuddle you
to my breast.

(3 Months)
For a sweet period of time
while your mom
was locked up in drug rehab,
you became all mine.
You know your Grammie loves you
with all her heart, soul and might.

(4 Months)

(5 Months)

(6 Months)

(3 Years)
It beckons me,
Invites me in,
Bids me welcome,
With untidy disarray.

The purple heather sheets,
Flannel-soft, rumpled, warm,
Still bear the indent
Of where I last slept.

A lonely teddy bear,
A flop-eared rabbit,
Are remnants of Hunter's restless sleep
Where he tossed and turned between us.

Between Mike and me.
I take a deep breath
And their familiar scents
Mingle with mine, cozy, safe, stirring.

If it's one o'clock in the afternoon
Or one o'clock in the morning
I make the bed before I crawl
Into freshly smoothed sheets.

And when I need oblivion, like now,
This is where I come
Sinking into this intimate haven
Worn over time to fit me.

Love, Jody