I stole my husband’s favorite flannel shirt today.
Nothing else fits.
Everything is dirty, milk-stained,
too big, stretched strange,
incompatible with feeding a hungry newborn.
The babe stole from me hours of sleep today
and the day before.
He wakes too far before dawn,
snorting and snuffling,
his little body still adapting to the
food and ways of this world.
He cries and calls out.
But the silence is even worse,
and I move even closer to find the
sound of his breath.
My husband’s mother will steal my older son away today—
his morning with Nonni.
a little walk,
and lunch wherever he likes
(though they always go to the same diner
just around the corner).
This son who yesterday bit his best friend
This son who says every night he wants to snuggle with me
Today I’ll cook down onions, mushrooms, garlic
in the middle of the afternoon.
I’ll stir in warm crushed tomatoes,
paprika, cumin, red pepper,
let it simmer as the day ends.
Then a few cracks over the frying pan
at the last minute.
Served with slices of homemade sourdough.
Eggs in purgatory.
Nothing lasts forever.