Love set you going like a fat gold watch. <br />The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry <br />Took its place among the elements. <br /> <br />Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. <br />In a drafty museum, your nakedness <br />Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. <br /> <br />I'm no more your mother <br />Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow <br />Effacement at the wind's hand. <br /> <br />All night your moth-breath <br />Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: <br />A far sea moves in my ear. <br /> <br />One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral <br />In my Victorian nightgown. <br />Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square <br /> <br />Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try <br />Your handful of notes; <br />The clear vowels rise like balloons.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-song/
