When my son was shiny and new, just out
of the box, so to speak
Jennifer and I crept quietly into
our room to be sure, to see
if he was still breathing.
I bent over the cradle, my ear close
in anticipation
of his next soft baby breath, always afraid,
irrationally afraid
his chest might stop rising and falling.
But babies are made resilient and strong.
He always drew another
and another, exhaling his warm life
into my ear, quiet
strength forcing air in, out.
In, out, like the tide that turns the sea.
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