so little, born yesterday
after New York’s wildest rain.
The sun pushed its face up out of the water,
over the bridges,
and Jolie, our little pretty
fell into her mother’s hands
in the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Our biggest pot was catching water that split
the ceiling the night before.
He was telling her,
baby, you did it! Look at her,
she’s beautiful, you did it!
There were no sirens,
only the wail of something new
and the sighs of a mother.
We piled into the bedroom and brought
sterilized bobby pins and kitchen scissors.
We knew exactly where everything was.
When they crawled into bed together,
and the towels were thrown out,
and the windows were made dark with pillows,
I mopped the floor and quietly
closed the door behind me.