Lullaby Poem by Deborah Cox

Rocking the baby

as a gap between curtains

lets sun concentrate

the weight of the ache


in her palms from the handles

of this wicker weave.


She focuses on folds

in the fabric between

words, windows, worlds

and the ones she has seen


until it's enough

to have both her hands held


by this dutiful sting -

dust particles moving

like planets -

as she holds him in peace


and holds everything still

on the light.