Bloodmilk

tiny child
helpless in fogged senses
the moon reflected
in vague eyes
watching my face in the night

redly mouthing milk
coaxed from my breast
from my breast
with its tides
and storm-wreckage,
fires burning sadly
the wastes vast
of repressed silences

tiny child
ubiquitous
pivoting my life around
the compulsive clenching
and unclenching
of your fists,
your screaming desperate cries
changing my blood
to milk
which you tickle out of me.

Author notes

Perhaps loosely remeniscent of Sylvia Plath-

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose names you meditate ---
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.