No Words
Hold the baby who burbles words you don’t know yet, words that aren’t but are puffs of air burst from fat cheeks by squishy hands. The bubble in his mouth deflates like a balloon snatched away too soon from straining lips that want only to breathe life. Rock the baby who slaps hands with nails neglect darkens and time lengthens and need sharpens. The baby scratches and giggles. Shush the baby who sleeps when it is you who needs the shushing. Photo by Kristina Paukshtite from Pexels
