Stilled Life

Breathing in magnolia blossoms,
we walk the dog along the Sound
stick in hand for him to fetch.

In the pebbled tide, a baby seal’s body sloshes.
When the wind changes, it will wash away.
Be eaten, you say. I worry its death. Mother
frantic. Pup lost. Forgotten
like the baby I failed to carry.

In our garden, tight nubs
of promise on the apple tree
we planted for our anniversary.
Tulip heads closed into a baby’s fist
wait for warmth to open,
new life from earth’s womb.

Imagine Easter eggs tucked
in the crook of our blooming plum,
nesting in dewy hyacinth leaves,
mailbox, window frame.
Little hands holding life stilled,
holding breakfast.

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