Sarah Rosenblatt - Poetry

    MY SON, CAL,  AT SIXTEEN MONTHS
    
    Today, I watched you scoot across the floor
    to see the prism
    hanging in the window.
    
    Later we read stories,   
    pulled laundry baskets over our heads--
    looked at each other through the ribs.
    
    Tonight, as you sleep, I listen to your breathing 
    
    and the placemats in the dark kitchen hold their own 
    throughout the Fall
    
    supporting the living
    the best they can.