Christmas
as usual, buttered
with senescent conversations
this year fizzed with a citrus dialogue
of scrunched ears, hot water bottle hugs
and altogether too much hair
on the smallest head

although
we have eyes
and
it is said
"the eyes make the mind",
in this life
we don't really see no one,

absorbed by ourselves
we notice the others
only then
when their weaknesses catch our eyes,

vanity,
fear, - is a cloudy glass
through which we look at those around us,

rarely,
here and there
two people
undress in the fire of love
burning the blurry layers,

- in the light of the fire
empty hearts can see
the nakedness of the newborn.

Eyes open into newness
And find a smile
Dimpled giddy
With the happiness
That took only one look to awaken
And one little life to nurture.
Nine months worth of waiting
Melt into a promise of forever.
My love for you is an endless
Beautiful thing.
Bigger than the both of us
Loud and bellowing.
But I whisper it
because I want to let you sleep.

I have cried,
The tears of a thousand widows
Stripped my soul bare
Sold some organs
Rearranged some bones
But still.....
You went to heaven without me

Sonnet: Second Sight (II)
by Michael R. Burch

(Newborns see best at a distance of 8 to 14 inches.)

Wiser than we know, the newborn screams,
red-faced from breath, and wonders what life means
this close to death, amid the arctic glare
of warmthless lights above.
Beware! Beware!—
encrypted signals, codes? Or ciphers, noughts?

Interpretless, almost, as his own thoughts—
the brilliant lights, the brilliant lights exist.
Intruding faces ogle, gape, insist—
this madness, this soft-hissing breath, makes sense.
Why can he not float on, in dark suspense,
and dream of life? Why did they rip him out?

He frowns at them—small gnomish frowns, all doubt—
and with an ancient mien, O sorrowful!,
re-closes eyes that saw in darkness null
ecstatic sights, exceeding beautiful.

Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, newborn, baby, birth, labor, slap, breath, screams, life, sight, vision, mrbson