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-
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.
My hand, intruding on your space,
Becomes familiar once again.
The movement slows as sleep returns once more.