Your face was blue when we first
met, the first time I saw you
outside of pictures, outside of me.
Your whole small body shook
with holy cries, hallowed shrieks.
They subsided when your tiny cheek
pressed over my heart, when we breathed
together. You turned pink later
that night, hours passing since you
were forced from my body, laughter
pushing you to join me in this world.
Your movements staccato– too small
to be real, I dreamed you were
an animatronic infant, a sweet
deception. Black hair fell past
your ears, plastered to your neck
by amniotic fluid. But I’ll never
forget that blue, umbilical cord
wrapped around your neck, the first
thing you ever wore after me.