Night Feeds
It made sense to your ways,
The resting façade.
How could we know you’d just pop?
Tell me, why would you cut it?
Your early footsteps echo down,
To warm bottles,
Every three to four hours,
Deja vu lukewarm, then cooled.
Here we go again.
Cries reverberate through the house,
Your turn, my turn,
The baby’s turn to spit up,
On you, on me, on her.
Tired an understatement.
Whose choice was this?
Mine, yours, or fate’s?
Bags under eyes black shadows,
Nappy bags, wipe and go.
A cycle, endless,
yet somehow,
Bound by love.
