Camilla in Ikea

i imagined you in the $89.99 crib,

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.