Katie, 9 Months

Katie's laugh is stitched
into the quilted silence of my room.
Katie's eyes flirt
in the lights of passing cars.
Her cheeks are night air, smooth as pudding.
The touch of the pillow against my face 
is Katie's hands, cupped
and pink as sweet-peas.

Now that I have held her for a day
she is mine.  In sleep my arms 
are fitted to the small roundness of her,
like pearl 
around a grain of sand.

Tonight she sleeps in her house,
six umbrellas twirling over her.
But my house sleeps with Katie too,
held in the essence of warm towels,
small, soft clothes
and sweet soap.


	Lucille Murphy