First Poem for August
by Mikela Bjork

In the morning
when I creek-crick into your bedroom
opening the curtains
singing nonsensical songs.
Spinning tendrils
framing your precious chunka-runka face
I watch you watching me.

I pull you onto my lap
for your morning milk chug.
Your once snug onesie falls off
your saggy bottom as you scootch
yourself into the crook of my lap,
where you settle in and
latch with conviction
onto my left breast.

In the rocking chair
we sway back and forth
as you nurse, your cadence–
breathesuckswallow breathesuckswallow breathesuckswallow
becomes a meditation
on the wave-like crescendos
upon which you came into
and exited my body
my little sprite spirit
my precious, giggly Roo.

Locked into you
blue eyes to blue eyes
I see a map of your journey,
the journey of your ancestors,
of the mermen and crows and hawks
that came before you.
Ushering you safely
into me, home.

Forthcomoing in The Altadena Poetry Review 2024  

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