she

i sat there in the bed. my fake pink chiffon robe over my knit pink gown was flowing softly from my body to the hospital bed.

pain was there but it's only there if you acknowledge it.
i don't recognize it. i can't feel it.

i don't care about being 18. i don't care about not being married. i don't care that other people care.

sunlight blast through the narrow and tall window. the tv is on but i can't hear it. morning show; news show or something but no sound.

the smells are soft and kind; pink and small. no sounds, no taste. i can smell it though. it smells good.

it is really tiny. tinier than i thought it would be. i see pink. pink and small. i see brown. brown and cozy.

she. she is light. her skin is cuddly. softer than any word can describe.
i rub her. i rub her head. i rub her arms.

she. her hair is soft and curly. big curls. man could never make curls like this. there are not any relaxers or perms for this.

she. her eyes are closed. now this is the peace they talk about. the peacefulness of the baby.

it is she and me now. me and she. in my arms is she and we absorb the sun.