By Michelle Webster-Hein

February 13, 2014


I was dense today, rushed. I kept losing important things--the keys, the phone, my daughter’s pacifier. I forgot to keep an eye out for something beautiful.

But I do have this quiet moment--pecking out words with one hand, cradling the babe with the other. It’s the only way I write anymore--her head in the crook of my left arm, her legs under the wing of my right elbow. When she was very young, I found it difficult. Now I wonder what I’ll do when she no longer finds her solace in my lap, when I cannot gaze at the pulse of her neck, listen to the softness of her sighs until the right words find me.

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