Canto CCL

Who knew that I would be so bloody happy
at 4am, to jump up, boot camp quick
and find myself a dab hand with the nappy,

a sudden connoisseur of baby shit.



We wake not knowing what the hour is,
nor the one hour of sleep that came before
that felt like a decade, as if we’d missed

the world torn up then lovingly restored.
Our own names feel like welts between our gums,
our old lives shed and crumpled on the floor.

You take our little girl into your arms
and guide her to your breast, as slowly, health
trickles between the two of you and warmth

becomes your mutually protective shell.
The act of waking up has now become
the leaving behind of our cast off selves

to remember the selves we have become.

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