Article in Arts / Literature / Poetry
Against misogyny
 
 
 

Daughter in Arms


That first spring I often gave her her bath.
One evening—she was about four months old—
I had just swaddled her in her hooded towel
To dry her off, dress her, then tuck her in.

I was singing Schubert as I often did.
Suddenly she faced me, rounded her lips,
And, looking directly into my eyes,
Sang back to me in her cooing voice.

My daughter in arms was still a baby,
But I knew even then I had just met
The woman I celebrate here and now,
My daughter in arms I biding my hour.
 
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About the Author 

R Allen Shoaf
EROTIC RECKONINGS, my second volume of poetry, can now be purchased from New Plains Press or from Amazon. My third volume, PIED-PIPER PHILOL

 
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