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Wake to your voice saying “Mama, Mama,” to your slender arm
reaching inside the blankets, body shivering in cold gray light.
Wake to you slipping in beside me, telling me your head aches
that the dizziness has returned.
Wake to your touch curling against me, to the soft, dark fuzz
atop your head, to you folding beneath my arms.
Feel the pulse of your heartbeat in mine, our breath rising
and falling, my cheek resting against the nape of your neck.
Feel the flutter of your body against the cold, our bones shivering
into the warmth of each other like caterpillars wrapping themselves into cocoons.
Feel the warmth of time unspooling itself around us, our skin
spinning slower, wider, deeper until the whirl is quieted.
Listen to the hush of breeze outside, to the way light
plays on the windows, stretching to meet our fingers.
Listen to the rustle of the blankets, to the movement
of your long limbs stretching out beyond mine.
Listen to your voice assuring me “I’m alright now, Mama,”
to how you capture and reflect the light, to your wings unfurling from your chrysalis,
to the way you rise.
Stacie Eirich is a mother of two and author. Her book, Hope Like Sunlight (Bell Asteri Publishing, 2024), is an illustrated memoir in poetry, prose and art of her family’s journey to a cure for their child from brain cancer. All proceeds from the book benefit St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital & Ronald McDonald House. Her poems have recently been published in The Amazine, The Bluebird Word and Synkroniciti Magazine. She lives in Texas with her family. www.stacieeirich.com