Fiona’s Butterfly Hands
Her hands begin to flutter and circle about her head like tiny butterflies,
She is as a geisha doing a sensuous finger fan dance
She is sign rapping a song of love
She is the conductor of an orchestra, holding the note high
and the musicians in silent rapture.
Eyes half closed in ecstasy
As her mouth suckles in celebration of this her only meal.
She caresses her ears and her face,
Grasping, sighing, searching to settle and grabbing again,
Her tiny bowed lips taking deep deep drinks.
She makes quietly divine cooing noises and shudders with relief.
Her celebration unfolds, once again the telling of
the unity with my breast and her being, happy to coexist here and now.
Fed and full and Fiona.
If you have any thoughts, please drop a word below in the comments. Or
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Beautiful! Bravo!!
Thank You.
Thanks for caring about me Kathy.
So lovely!
Perfect description of the dance of need and desire and the rapture of fulfillment — baby-style. I can smell the milky breath.
Would it ruin the rapturous mood if I then mention the smell of barf on your neck right afterwards.
As she is, merci.
Shalagh, I thought this was so beautiful and it brought back so many memories for me. It’s such a precious time. I’ve made it my Post of the Week. Love, Amy
Wow, Amy, thanks. High praise from my writerly friend. I am very glad that I am in a frame of mind to enjoy her too. We preserve our memories of our children through these pages. Until they beg us to stop.
Love Ya’,
Shalagh
I am so glad to remind so many women of a lovely warm fuzzy with raising their children. And you make me blush with your praise.
Love,
Shalagh
What a poetic description of nursing response
from a baby. It must be wonderful to feel as
secure, loved, satisfied, relaxed as she must
be. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! infanthood. I started to say I remember those days, but that
would be a big stretch. I wish I could take myself there mentally as a retreat. Just watching it with Fiona must be so fulfilling for
you.
Knowing your sense of the poetic, but also the
REAL, I thought you might conclude your poem
with “and the liquidy sounds coming from the
diaper area and the accompanying pungent odor.”
But I’m glad you stayed in the poetic moment
and didn’t slip into prose.
I was only thinking of you today and was going to catch your blog later. The heat brought me in and I saw your tweet. How you put into beautiful words what all babies do. You are such a talented lady Shalagh and your children are so lucky to have you. xx
Thank you Jennie. I suspect you of good parenting too but can’t prove it.
Love,
Shalagh
Bravo my friend! This is totally transcendent & so chock full of images that are TRUE – I love it.
Our children are our little poems to the universe.