Played sweetly, wrap tucked tight
Noise dimmed
But sound present
Long gaze of mother’s eye.
Short flash of a fire flicker
Warming the room
Breathing hot life.

Same looks. Same wrap.
Same soft sound from tiny body.
Flickers from a screen
Blue light flooding
To otherwise dark spaces
Tempting mother’s eye
To creak open
Fighting back the gnaw of sleep
The dull ache
Not yet
Bit while baby rests
In her arms.

Across the centuries the picture varies
Only in small fractiles.
Light sources.
Sounds like sirens rather than beastly howls.

The picture the same.

But I wonder, future mother, great great granddaughter
Daughter in law
Woman yet to be.

As you rock and soothe
Surrounded by fake light and white noise
And endless talking screens
Woman
Will you have scraped past the trauma
I carry now and attempt to beat down
And toss for scrap
Devoured by any hungry passer-by.

Woman I fought, armed with therapy
Books
Meditation
Scented candles
Self care
All of it to keep the anxiety in my breast.
Not yours.

But I worry future woman.
That anxiety snuck
Crib to bed
Generation to generation
Sneaking and nibbling
Bits of confidence and joy.

I hope you sit.
Baby tucked
Having eloped from these fears. But if not,
Dear woman
Please.
Keep fighting.
Fight until the anxiety is tucked up tighter than the baby.
Fast asleep.