Your bald head fit perfectly in my palm,
and the first time you opened your eyes,
you saw me.
I had just awakened from a dream
I’d been having my whole life
to find that it was true.
It was you.
My world tilted to meet
the lazy lean of your head,
and I used my wrist as your neck.
You yawned,
the jet-lagged yawn of birth,
not yet knowing what it is to be awake.
I watched in wonder as you slept,
your first real breaths
an imperfect rhythm.
Nine months of doubt
were cast away in a moment
as my knuckle brushed your velvet cheek,
and for the first time,
I trusted myself not to fail.
Lilacs in Bloom 