by Sinnea Douglas

                                  These days I drench my dreams in
                                teething rings, turkey sandwich lunches,
                                school plays, and sports teams.
                                    Hang them up like southern laundry and wait for the scenes to play.

                                And across sheets of time - I see you -
                                A Bundle of Poetry waiting to be spoken.
                                Your laughter - Jazz trickling from tiny spit bubbles.
                                Your beauty - Lines of simile tightly entwined into locks of wavy hair.
                                Your life - a motion picture whose release date has been threatened.
                                But Iíve already purchased the tickets
                                    I know better.

                                            I need you my child,
                                            beautiful as the footprints the sun leaves across the evening sky.

                                            I need you my child,
                                            as real as the congas that beat in my chest.
                                            You will breathe that first breath. No matter what they say.

                                God himself sculpted you from the clouds,
                                Dipped His brush into starlight, and painted you into my womb.
                                And this womb
                                    will be a tomb to no child.

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Poem Copyright © 2011 by Sinnea Douglas


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