Face up, your daughter pushes off
From the pool’s tiled edge, her seven years
Framed by a glistening embroidery of ripples.
The water cascades across her grace,
Faceting the midday sun. You call her name –
And she looks up, a smile quivering on her lips.
For a moment she glides, serene,
A tranquil still-life, opal-speckled,
Captured bliss, like her earliest portrait…
I can see her so clearly, the way you described her,
Her tiny frame still floating in her mother’s pool,
Seven months inside, a misty outline of silver
And stars, shimmering in ultrasound.
They told you, a boy, but your heart whispered
To you her secret, even then. You called her name –
And there she was, her silhouette, your face,
Trifling fingers clasping her umbilical, small tongue
Stretched out, lapping your amniotic love.