Photo by Zach Lucero
Before You
Kate Maxwell
Loved before he knew the sky
tang of citrus, smell of summer
he gasped into the sharp air
of that late December morning
shocked by gravity–
its heavy drag of cold
and how his helpless
unswimming limbs
flailed, now so strangely unfamiliar
in this weird and wombless world
of too much light and noise and touch.
His sobs hushed with the comfort of
sweet nipple, warm press of skin on
skin, and the scent and sound he’d
always known
of her.
She’d always known him too.
Had scrubbed and oiled her strong-latched
box of yearning long before he came
each wish stored, secured and wrapped
with tattered layers of a soul
stripped and woven round his future.
Separate from affection for the father
whatever she still kept for that man
who turned away, gave so little
until he gave the greatest gift.
Cocooned by freshly painted walls
blue as morning sky
so unlike her daily shade
of stoic sorrow
and clean white shelves lined
with folded cottons, bears or balms
to soothe imagined infant troubles
she rocked and crooned
adored and swooned.
For he had always been her life’s work.
Magnificent as she moved
through this chosen devotion
to channel, breathe and build
a gifted passion for his joy.
Kate Maxwell
Loved before he knew the sky
tang of citrus, smell of summer
he gasped into the sharp air
of that late December morning
shocked by gravity–
its heavy drag of cold
and how his helpless
unswimming limbs
flailed, now so strangely unfamiliar
in this weird and wombless world
of too much light and noise and touch.
His sobs hushed with the comfort of
sweet nipple, warm press of skin on
skin, and the scent and sound he’d
always known
of her.
She’d always known him too.
Had scrubbed and oiled her strong-latched
box of yearning long before he came
each wish stored, secured and wrapped
with tattered layers of a soul
stripped and woven round his future.
Separate from affection for the father
whatever she still kept for that man
who turned away, gave so little
until he gave the greatest gift.
Cocooned by freshly painted walls
blue as morning sky
so unlike her daily shade
of stoic sorrow
and clean white shelves lined
with folded cottons, bears or balms
to soothe imagined infant troubles
she rocked and crooned
adored and swooned.
For he had always been her life’s work.
Magnificent as she moved
through this chosen devotion
to channel, breathe and build
a gifted passion for his joy.