Baby Breath
by Dan Burnstein

At the hospital for delivering live babies
Rebecca came to us finally 
they told us to hold her
much like trying to hold a former meteorite
a baby cap on straight
unwrapped in her receiving 
soft as the measure of days without end
eyes avoiding breath held
perfect pink passing
light as we sat together
10 fingers and 10 toes
the happy say they counted them
we did it anyway
just next door was 
1000 miles away I measured it to be sure
we mostly didn’t talk
to her or each other
black hair glued to her
head by the pressure of birth
anointed by our tender silence she seemed so calm 
how small the wrinkles
how much growth could have been
when the nurse left  
with Rebecca where was she going with our precious 
slice of red-orange leaf on the cumulous mist