A Picture of Alex on my 40th Birthday

This will be charcoal-drawn.
This image, if it is to last, will be smeared,
Though the computer itself is warm,
these straight-typed-lines are too chilled and still
to capture Alex.

She discovers
she can move her own hands,
clenching the crinkly toy in her fatty fist
but it’s a delicate hold and then she moves on
to touch her finger to her tongue to meet her mouth to her thumb.
She’s delicious.
She kicks and tinny scales go up and down,
the baby seat responds to her every bound
and she delights in it all,
but not as much—
a windfall,
a beautiful tide turns bright eyes—
as when she alights
on me.

I scoop my hands under the small,
small of her back
and lift
her face to mine we have the same smile
and her soft breath sighs.
I laugh my head back
as she leans in to
gum my chin
And now,
I know what it is to want
What I have.

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