Zachary

Monet's Garden, 1875

[Monet’s Garden, 187t]

Zachary

He whispers his breath as he sleeps

So sweet and he the smell

I’m never quite sure of his comfort

I check and rcheck, realign somehow

His little body

So delicate, pure and uncluttered

I can’t believe he rests well

Without my readjustment

I wake in the night and think

I hear his toss or trouble

I run to relive by giving my breast

To soothe

He goes limp

I roll him onto his belly

He whispers again and I creep up to bed.

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