The foetal curl of your spine
And your silky, floppy head
Warm in my hand.
Slate eyes blinking open, unfocused,
Onto the blur of the world,
You hiccup and yawn at the wideness of the air.
Skin tinged golden with broken blood cells,
Arms flailing,
Fingers fragile as frosted grass.
You pull your knees in close,
Remembering the womb’s tight hug,
Listening for the home sound of mother’s heartbeat.
I hold you close,
Rock you to soothe your crying,
And wonder.
How could a Creator King of the Universe
ever
become
so
small?
