To My Baby, Yet Unborn

Waiting and Worrying for baby

To My Baby, Yet Unborn
Sandra Miller



The moon gazes in at me,
a mindful and suspicious warden.
Who can sleep under such a stare?
Awake, alone though my husband lies
close beside me, my thoughts turn again
to you. Restlessly my mind roams the silent
rooms of the house, prowls through the deep
shadows where the moonlight does not reach.

Do I hallucinate? How can I say?
I see you there, asleep as I am not,
in the cradle my grandfather made for you.
Softly the sound of your tiny breathing
warms my weary, world-worn heart
and you sleep on, unaware, sleep on.
The moment the doctor first let us hear
your tiny heartbeat was like lightning;
beautiful and terrifying. How will I know
what to do for you? My hands grow cold,
my heart rate quickens. I am still, the center
of the chaos, a deer in imagined
headlights and then you wake
and turn and smile your sleepy
infant smile at me.

The moonlight gazes in on me as I fall
finally asleep, a watchful companion
waiting with me, waiting for you.