Here on the couch,
I sit, no, I slouch,
with my son on my shoulder
and my tax returns folder,
and a book, and another,
(I don’t know why I bother,
I’ll have to reread them
when I won’t have to pause –
Pause every minute, simply because –
There’s a diaper to change
or a person to feed
or a professional email
that I simply must read – )
So I sit here with baby
and the room smells of milk
and his skin rests on mine,
like feathers or silk –
And I think – it’s divine,
this time that we share.
This time that’s all messy
and lacks all fanfare.
This time on the couch
that bleeds slowly away,
as I sit or I slouch
with my baby