Intervention Of Grandchild Poem by Louise Marie DelSanto

Part of the moon peeks through an opening in my blinds.
I am sleepless. It is my third grandchild, and she is sick.

It is way past 2 am and my cats are clawing at the rug
on the steps leading upstairs. I hear my husband snoring.

Will I ever stop worrying? After all, I am a nurse. My grandaughter
sleeps comfortable in soft terry cloth and purple bunting. Hours ago

she smiled at me when I talked in short silly sentences and rubbed
her little spikey haired head. Toy animals in her crib like sentinels

She smiles at me: a thousand dancing daisies, a million quartz
rainbows side by side. A rush of baby birds singing sweet songs

I love the way the scent of baby stays on the hands
how the motion of rocking soothes both of us lately

And I know it is late. It is not like she will not get better.
Technology and interventions, I remind myself

It is almost 3 am and I finally stop worrying.