I Write as You Sleep
Anemone Beaulier

I Write as You Sleep

At your first cry—more beast than baby—words flee
the tangle of my mind like birds heeding a warning:
the shriek of something ravenous stirring.

They fly on inky wings,
flicks and arcs, dots and strokes of black
rising with their notes into the sky’s gap.

The bramble of my brain’s left barren—
no song, no plumes—for nothing
ever exactly repeats,

even when caught in the thorns
of memory: not the cast of light
on an iridescent head, nor the turn

of a thrush’s song at its end.
In the fugitive silence, I am still, waiting,
leaves empty ahead of your shrill rising.

Anemone Beaulier

lives in Alabama with her husband and two daughters and writes about motherhood on the blog Bloom, Baby. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on Poetry Daily and in The Southern Review, Cimarron Review, Crab Orchard Review, Cream City Review, Poet Lore, and Cave Wall.