Heidi: the Infant
Tiny rosebud mouth half presses against the pillow.
Pale, downy fringe brushes lightly against high cheekbones.
And all that is precious
rhythmically waltzes
in and out of
two china nostrils.
The umbilical cord to my heart
has never been cut, tied,
severed, or cauterized.
It also dances with a life of its own
among the trees
and the rocks
and under the sun.
It whirls madly along
keeping pace with the waltz
folding to embrace all of life -
reaching, stretching, painfully throbbing.
Painfully the throbbing cord lays bare and exposed
to the lacerating winds of reality that yank against it -
stretching its very endurance;
almost,
but not quite,
pulling out the heart
to which it is attached.
Pat Kashtock