riptides push young wet crown on
final slip to light.
Skin aflame with cold,
icy burning through young lungs
crying out in pain.
Swiftly grounded in
cotton-soft terrain, young limbs
buried warmly home,
Safe in parent’s scent.
Whisper stirs young curls asleep.
Unformed thoughts take flight.
About the Creator
I've served as a public policy analyst, journalist & advocate for women & children. People have more power than they know. I see the world for what it is & still own joy & humor. Above all, I'm simply a writer, fortunate to do work I love.