Treasure Island

Jane Eaton Hamilton


Four a.m. Feeding


i light no lamp
i go by ache
and touch

the song of your hunger
guide me
to your humid nest my hands
curl under your arms and lift

it's instinct this gift
i give you at night
i know you
differently
smell you when i can't see you

buttons to unfasten
half asleep
it's hard to work my fingers
and juggle you
but soon i fold you
in the crook of my arm
these pouches of stone
four hours without you
look what it does

you seek me
blindly rooting for the source
i croon
it is there
i melt and gush
you choke break cough
too much
too fast
gurgling to your belly

milk splatters your face and fuzzy scalp
milk sweet and warm such
plenty to grow on

i nuzzle your head
and rock the chair
slip my hand
under your gown
to fondle

your miniature toes

little peach little plum
i cannot imagine you
grown

Submitted: Monday, February 24, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, February 25, 2014

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