The young mother cradles her infant so fully
that only the globe of a small head peeks out
from the blanket’s swells and folds.
They must have been rocking for hours.
Shadows obscure their features
but the scene is iconic — might be my mother,
myself or my daughter and child.
Such a calm, dark room
except for light filtering in.
One arm thrusts out along the chair
towards what– time or memory?
Unsure of their journey, I whisper
the traveler’s prayer:
Spare them from enemies,
robbers, wild beasts.
Offer mercy
through all eyes that see them
although their intimate gaze is hidden.
Painting by the poet
