April 24, 2005

Breastfeeding and poetry month

Here is a breastfeeding poem for Phantom. For .


Hungry crying
stirs me out of dreams
into a dawn
of musty canvas, damp
pillows, ribs that ache.
I crawl over the breath
of a sleeping husband, stumble
out of the tent into a thick

to sit on the ledge, legs curled
against the moss, feeding a warm
baby who nestles
his cheek against my breast,
milk dripping
from the sides of his mouth
as he drifts into sleep.

In the marsh that stretches before me, cattails touch
the mist. Jewelweed opens to warmth. And I wonder

what other woman in what other time sat here
like this, her sleeping son cradled
in the crook of her leg,
watching the great blue heron rise
from her nest, weaving herself
into the pattern of dead leaves and new ferns,
eyelids closed, chin raised

touched by the sunrise, drenched
with the morning,




Dr. H said...

no author is cited, which leads me to believe this is one of YOUR poems. Is that right? Did I guess this correctly? It matches some of the life stories you've told, I think.

Beautiful images in this poem. Extremely peaceful mood evoked within me as I read this. Thanks for posting it.

Songbird said...

It's been almost ten years, but I do remember the feeling well.
thank you.

Laura said...

Very nice! I live the moss. I love moss against bare skin; it's so soft, better than any carpet.

Thanks for sharing this!

Pilgrim/Heretic said...


Rana said...

*appreciative sigh*

Moreena said...

Ahhh, this is beautiful.

Psycho Kitty said...


grandma blue said...

This is such a wonderful poem.
Thanks for posting it!

evieballerina said...

I seriously miss nursing... and this poem sums up why. Justification for baby #3, don't you think?

Phantom Scribbler said...

This is gorgeous, jo(e). I love the moss, and the jewelweed. Thank you for posting it.

Scrivener said...

I think "jewelweed" might just be my new favorite word. What a great name for a plant. I appreciate this poem too--especially like the crawling over the breath. And the opening of the fourth stanza.