a poem a day for a year #57

by Amy Turn Sharp


the baby takes all the trinkets

he is a tiny magpie

collecting random lego heads

cast off from big boys

sparkle earrings

left on the floor by the sofa

old christmas tinsel

from the vent

toenail clippings

hair in handfuls from the bathroom brushes

all the slices of a house

messy and lived

like toast crumbs

he brings them to me

he tries to put them in my bra

where his pacifier sublets

where he knows the heart beats

where his blood flows like magic rivers

 

he reaches inside of my blouse

his hands cross over my heart

and I don't give a damn

how messy it all is

how unkempt

I just don't care about anything

except his hand

that is so small

I may cry just from staring at it

from stuffing it in my mouth

we want to eat our babies

like candy

we want to collect every single moment

and fit them in our mouth

and put them in our heart