On top of my eyelids sit cinderblocks

Because at 1, 3, 5 am I watch the clock

While I feed a newborn

And coast in my rocker

In my mind there’s a storm

Those cinderblocks squeeze out my tears

As I think back on the years

And as I think ahead

I ponder the moment as well as life and death

How we all start so small

My rocker stalls

Oh, the breadth from it to the crib

My body in the wee hours is a sinking ship

To the crib I stagger and lay her down

Her cry is a dagger

Guilt ensues because I think

I’d rather drown

And I do, finally, in my bed

The perfect pillow gladly takes my head

And my husband, our three-week-old
Into the fantastic unconscious I mold

Maybe to catch a dream

Or to encounter the God I believe

Priceless sleep, what a welcome reprieve
Till the cinderblocks are removed

Sleep, like death and new motherhood

Has something to prove