Four Poems by Chloe Yelena Miller
These poems by Chloe Yelena Miller originally appeared in Teacher Voice, an anthology of writing by teachers published jointly by Malarkey Books and Mythic Picnic.
Sleep
four months old
I hear your animal cries—
they breach a night-fog of exhaustion.
I reach for your hand under my back
to pull your sixteen-pound body out from under me.
Lit by the city street lamp,
I see you, blue,
hair rubbed thin on the side
where you struggled.
These are the nightmares of parenthood.
I lift you out of your crib,
carry you to the window.
No longer crying,
your breath still broken
by an occasional, leftover cry-gasp.
A raccoon scurries on the thin, high
branches. His eyes catch
the neighbor’s backyard security light.
Maybe you can’t see that far yet,
especially before the light of dawn.
I’m afraid the raccoon might fall.
You sleep in my arms—
mouth alternating
between sucking, smiling on just one side,
sucking again. Sometimes another gasp.
I don’t dare sleep.
Uniquely Human
almost nine months old
The curve of your lower back absorbs shock when you walk. It is uniquely human. – Smithsonian Museum’s Human Origins Program
I bend my knee to thrust my hip,
coined-scarf chimes.
Soft body that held you, almost pushed you out,
mimics the instructor in the dance studio mirror.
Three weeks early,
you now have been in the dry world
longer than you lengthened in my womb.
Clapping hands against the kitchen floor,
you crawl, lift your bottom:
upright ready.
Your father and I model walking,
hold you in front of the mirror.
You wobble, almost dance in your crib,
fingers wound around the wooden slats.
Your mouth opens to scream, then smile, then scream.
My bones, from hips to feet, spread with your growth
and I navigate this new body.
Heat
Morning bird-songs startle you awake,
legs stretch out.
You walk stiffly through the grass, never bending knees;
heat wriggles behind ears, knees.
You bend your neck toward the newest sprouts.
Summer night sky stalls;
we read two more animal-sleep books.
You turn the pages, forward and backward, create a new narrative.
Your baby-song crescendos before you gain sleep-weight.
Back against my stomach,
you pull my hand around your waist to grasp my finger.
You were an amphibian
before the anticipated dry-earth breath,
then an unfurled fawn in the crib.
Your animal cries cracked the paint,
and now you aim your body with purpose.
I must let go so you can sleep, so I can sleep,
but I wait, breathe your escaping heat.
Pregnancy
Collage from popular pregnancy books
Beat the clock!
Get on the expectant express faster.
Wondering when your eggs will be ripe?
There’s nothing you can do about your age.
Eat healthy!
Oysters may also hop up your fertility
while raising the libido roof.
Have the male partner drink something caffeinated
an hour before sex (to speed up his boy-making boys).
Once you’ve overcome fertility problems
and become pregnant (congratulations!),
you face a somewhat greater chance
of other problems . . .
Chloe Yelena Miller lives in Washington, D.C., with her husband, child and their many books. Her poetry chapbook Unrest was published by Finishing Line Press. Her work has been published in Alimentum, The Cortland Review, McSweeney’s, Narrative Magazine, Poet’s Market, and Storyscape Literary Journal,among others. These poems come from a manuscript of poems about miscarriage, pregnancy and early motherhood.
Chloe teaches writing at the University of Maryland University College and Politics & Prose Bookstore, as well as privately. Follow her: chloeyelenamiller.com/ @ChloeYMiller