Stillness with Newborn

Her head settles heavy in my cupped hands,

soft and silent like a paused breath.

The room blurs in the dim light,

a quiet that doesn’t bloom.

Skin so small, warm without claim,

a weight that empties the space beneath.

I expected a rush, a fire in the chest—

only cold quiet pours in.

I watch the rise and fall,

tiny chest, untouched by thunder.

An absence that presses heavy,

a stillness that feels like absence.