Little Messy Beauty

small thing

seed-like feather-waif

intricately spun

like her hand-made ornament

beaded and embroidered 

with richest red hues fading 

into gentle pink glow. 

she works and sews,

and you, small thing, 

inside her take your place. 

tiny fairy spine,

spindly limbs with the suggestion

of itsy hands and feet

reaching out to meet the day. 

and on that day the light is harsh,

and will not meet you nicely,

nor wrap you tightly

as where you now lie

swaddled in the secret place. 

stark, clean light and chilly,

indifferent air bombards and breaks

your sleepy lids.

but though the light and air be cold

i will greet you warmly on your first day

as do the arms of trees 

spring’s sun-debut

and let you wrap your perfect baby-five 

around my world weary one.

even your shriveled nose,

which shrivels smaller 

at each bewildered shriek 

will be a wonder to me,

a twinkly star 

on the sky of your small face.

and when the world darkens on me

and threats loom near,

i will marvel at the glory 

of your seashell feet

and pretty pearl toes,

and begging to be so new again,
I will see that I am still a child

and need but to remember 

the wonder of a web

or a frothy swirl in the sky,

and all will be new again.

welcome, small thing, 

to this so-called stage,

and when you too grow weary,

do as i will do-

look upon beauty 

as I will look on you

and the dark will reside for a minute

to let you catch your breath. 

© Emily Brown, 2014 

Newborn baby
Photo by Bonnie U. Gruenberg
from Wikimedia Commons