The fiercest new day

The air in his alphabet room was cool,
felt even more so because she knew the
day would pant into afternoon and sweat
into evening, dampening the night
so she dreamt of rain or leaky taps and
her breasts ached and dribbled. Crossing to the

sun lined curtains, prolonged the delicious
delight of his new day smile. She wondered
if this euphoria would fade over time
or just get bigger and stronger like him;
baby-gros that once hung from his toes, now
washed and tucked away for the next one. The

sun x-rayed her fingers as she tied the
yellow bows, and smoothed happy ducks into
the folds. Anticipating a sing song
coo, she turned and rested the heel of her
hands on the end of his hand-painted cot
and smiled at a glimpse of his tufted hair,
dark like hers, til’ her-

-arms ached for his weight,
and her lips for his morning taste of damp
talcum powder and sweet posits of her
milk, dried in the folds of his wrinkled neck.

Stillness, a stillness that she had never
noticed before, sagged like wet washing
over
his barreled body. She pulled back the
cover
impatient for his vital cycling
energy to let down her milky love.
Alabaster white -

- Alabaster mite,
frozen in milky stone, smooth and spotless,
lifted and pressed into her, she felt the
statue coldness seep into her breasts. Her
moan pierced the frigid silence and fractured
The fiercest new day.