lying there, cooing away until i cannot fight
the urge to pick you up, your legs kicking
(more forceful than the casual observer could imagine)
and your mother standing next to me
in our 591 sq. ft. efficiency apartment
where we (miraculously) found a little nook
for your books and shelves, and that chair you mother loves.
we picked up little kitchen sets that we imagined
you would use to make us invisible potatoes and chicken
with tea and cookies for desert—i would love to sit and sip
portions of clear Earl Gray in a too-small chair.
i don't wish to push you to be a little daisy
because if you at all end up like your mother,
you will be a darling rose, but with thorns that can make
those who don't know any better bleed.
on the car ride home we thought of that 591 sq. ft. display
and your little nook—i placed my hand over my love's stomach
knowing that someday (when we can afford a little nook)
that would be your little nook.