Michael Mark's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly Review, The Arkansas International, Copper Nickel, Michigan Quarterly Review, Pleiades, Ploughshares, The Southern Review, The New York Times, The Sun, Poetry Daily, Waxwing and The Poetry Foundation's American Life in Poetry Series and other lovely places. Keep up with Michael Mark on Twitter (@Michaelgrow) and check out his website at http://www.michaeljmark.com/.
Eight Days Old
How easy it would be,
your head cradled
in my palm –
one half twist
and you’d go limp. Or I
could let you slip
below the bath’s surface –
when moments before
I tested its warmth.
Accidents documented
in Lamaze class, tragic movies,
your mother’s warnings:
I commit each
to memory
to keep you safe.
Because I can see myself
tucking you in the roasting pan,
the pale chicken defrosting
in your bassinet,
because I’m certain
the woman who confessed
on TV – exhaustion, medication –
never believed she could
do such a thing, I do not
let myself near you
in the kitchen. And when you get too quiet,
I set all utensils aside, Sara,
before I run to you.
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