Instinct’s Grasp

Instinct’s Grasp

In the mess between nap-time dreams,
A mother stands amidst her disarray.
Her strong arms lift without thought,
Pulling her child’s soft weight into her safety.

Her hips sway, a cradle forged by instinct,
Balancing a new world, a motion old as time.
Her child, wide eyes learning, roaming,
Curiosity pressed against her collarbone.

A rattle sings its small tumbling song,
As they glide through the cafe’s rush.
Little fingers fumbling with plastic and sound,
Learning what it means to grasp and let go.

Balancing along the bench, daring to roam,
Past mom’s grasp, where patience lives.
This world is measured in giggles, and silences,
In the weight of a child leaning against your chest, just because.