Ivy Rose by Andrea Seek

Ivy Rose

Your mother rests
exhausted, engorged and asleep,
on polyester sheets, hospital issue.

I fold into the chair at the bedside
somnolent, awake, and then adrift again.

I heard once of a fetus
who sang through its gestation
private, for the mother -
though you were quiet then.

Now you chuckle all night long
this first night of your life
muffled laughter from the isolette above me.

I am sure I was awake.