Emily Adams-Aucoin

The Anatomy of a Moment

the baby’s finally sleeping, but that’s 

not what makes the moment so 

beautiful. 

it’s something about how the 

light’s filtering in through the blinds, 

illuminating the clutter 

of our living room, which we hold 

so dear because it’s ours & we’ve 

chosen it. 

or maybe it’s the way my husband 

glances at me & smiles every so often 

& then is reabsorbed by 

his cell phone. or maybe it’s the future, 

& how from here, from our living room, 

with the baby sleeping 

& the light streaking across our arms 

& faces, any happiness seems 

possible, or even likely. 

anyway, before long, the light has 

folded to night, & the baby’s woken up, 

her hunger a serious alarm, 

& the feeling’s gone, or waiting 

somewhere for another opening, 

& we go on living having only 

tasted it.