Poem: September 13, 1985

By Jack Brummet

It was quiet as a painting 
in Berkeley, 

driving at three a.m. 
on Telegraph Avenue 

toward Oakland, 
to the delivery room. 

I saw a new moon 
hung on our old sky. 

We watched the monitor 
and waited.

Her robber-stockinged face 
came down and one bleat 

to the rafters 
started us all breathing again. 
---o0o---