She is her mother’s first born
and blessed as such.
In these first few fragile moments,
her very breath yet tenuous,
she looks up at me
with what seems like recognition,
and her lips, all tiny and pale,
struggle to say something,
though that, of course, is impossible.
Still, it feels to me like words
or at least the precursors of words.
and I wonder if perhaps
she has been waiting all these months
to deliver to me alone
her mysterious message,
Only minutes old
but determined as only the innocent
can be to succeed,
she clutches my fingertip
and makes me listen.