You were meant to come today
but you’ve been here for six weeks
immense and tiny
at the same time
immense in that you weigh
upon my breath
so much more even
than when you were inside me
but tiny like your hand
that often rests in the middle of the air
floating
like our ideas
of who you will be
and today
the day you were meant to arrive
after you’d spat milk
into your own eyes
I tried to sound cheery
as I bathed you
so your dad would hear me
and think flattering things
I dimmed the lights in the bathroom
which meant I didn’t notice
when you pooed
in the bath
nor for how long
I had been singing
and wringing out the facecloth
of warm poo water
over your hair
so it may have been that
or the way you woke up and smelled like jam
or the way we stared at you
and said how pretty you were
even though we quietly know
we will look back at photos
and remark how much you looked
like that actor from Sideways
I can’t find the moment exactly
just that it happened today
the day you were meant to arrive
the day you reached in
through the dryness
of so long
and pulled out
a poem.