HOW NAIVE I HAVE BEEN

Our midwife told us to have
a song ready to sing just in case

our daughter needs resuscitation

after birth. A song to call her in
while they work the physical:

the new and hesitant muscle, lungs

delicate as orchids. She said
it should be a song our baby knows,

heard before from inside

the softened bower,
sifted through skin like sunlight

sinking to the bottom of a pond.

How naive I have been—the many
times I have said, art saves lives

and never meant like this.