Receiving

I had no idea how to hold a baby.Forget instinct. It doesn't feel like it looks.And you were a squirmer and wouldn'tstay swaddled. "Receiving blankets"we called those cloths you threw off,as though we'd held them stretchedbeneath stars while you fell from heaven.In the yellow one with rabbits stamped on,I wrapped you for our first trip out.You wriggled and stretched and foughtwith fists when I held you in the crookof my arm. Laid on my shoulder, you belliedaround like a snake. It was September.Hot. Hot. And you smotheredin a drawstring gown and thatblanket. I didn't have a grip.That much was clear. And you were onyour journey, in search of something firmeror freer. I still do not know which.