Thursday, October 20, 2011

Poem: The Night She Was Born



The Night She Was Born
by Jack Brummet

It was as quiet as a painting in Berkeley,
driving at three a.m. on Telegraph Avenue
toward Oakland, and the delivery room.
I saw a new moon hung on our old sky.
We watched the monitor and waited.
When her robber-stockinged face came down,
one bleat to the rafters started us all breathing again.
---o0o---

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

beautiful.