This is the moment I want to keep forever.
Bedtime in a dark room, by the navy curtains,
Nursing for the last time before you go to slumber.
I do not note so much you sucking at my breast,
That sensation normalized by twelve months’ repetition.
What I notice most is your small exploring fingers,
Exploring down my hand and clinging to my wristbone.
Nursing ’till you’re full, you sit up; it’s automatic:
You curl up on my chest, dig your head into my shoulder.
Not so tiny now, your cuddles fill my torso.
You shut the world out, bracing for a long night of silence,
Fill the tank that runs on another’s warmth and heartbeat.
My lips and nose and cheek slide along your fuzzy pate
And store this moment up in a box with your name on it.
Days may be wild, tired, full of fun and failures,
But nights are our time, when I’m sure that I’m your mother.
All words and images copyright Rebecca Osborn 2014.