Pursed lips suckle air, their profile tender
against nightlight’s glow. Her body wiggles,
unconscious still. A caterpillar stuck on its back,
she cannot right herself just yet. Into my arms
I lift this little being, dense as a sack of baby
potatoes. A sudden exhale as I shift her body
onto me, the warmth of her person soothing
against my sore nipples. I place my fingertips
to her chest, my palm pressed to her belly,
the other palm to her nape damp with sweat,
trace fingertips along her cheek, smooth
away a wisp of brown hair marbled to skin,
watch it spring into itself, the curls curving
as the edge of a spider web caught in moonlight.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 23, Issue 1.
Katie Richards is an MFA candidate at George Mason University. She is the recipient of the 2016 Mark Craver Poetry Award and the 2020 Mary Roberts Rinehart Poetry Award. Her poetry has previously appeared in the South Dakota Review and Tipton Poetry Journal and is forthcoming in the North Dakota Quarterly. She currently lives in the DC metro area with her husband and children.See all items about Katie Richards
