Don't scratch! I shout until I scare him,
so I take him in my arms, kiss the back of his neck.
He cries, I want Mommy!

I wind up that silly monkey. It spins
circles on the floor, bumps into a wall, falls,
legs, working the air
like a reflex gone haywire.

In the afternoon, I bathe him in oatmeal,
brew him a weird tea of Burdock root and Peppermint,
cut the buttered crusts off toast ?
sugar, cinnamon, anything
to distract him.

I want to be completely naked
in the hot tub at the Banyon Inn, defusing
the tension in my neck, allowing myself
to admit my grown body.

I'm exhausted, my throat, dry.
I read aloud The Bear Family Thanksgiving book,
forcing my voice
to be squeaky for the baby
and deeper for the father who has entered
a pumpkin growing contest, competing
against his wife. He'll do anything to win.

Grey Held

Grey Held is a 2004 winner of the National Endowment for the Arts grant for poets, and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize XXVIII by Slipstream Magazine.