I was avoiding this post all day since my poetry writing sometimes lacks or fails completely if I’m not in my “poetry mood” of the year. I thought long and hard about what I would write about, but then the answer came to me pretty simply. I have a routine every night of cuddling with my wife and laying my arm across her stomach. And, as I’m about to fall asleep, I feel our daughter kicking at my arm for a few minutes before I either fall asleep or she settles. so, here is my poem dedicated to my nightly routine with our peanut.
Bump
Bump, bump, bump-
My hand resting against her belly.
Slumber nearly successful in overcoming me then
Poke, poke, poke-
I wonder if you know my voice,
Or can recognize my palm as you kick and prod it.
Bump, bump-
My hand, intruding on your space,
Becomes familiar once again.
Bump-
The movement slows as sleep returns once more.
