by Christina Ruotolo

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Quiet surrounds me soft and still
morning light filters through blinds
colors the day with possibility
bacon grease sits in a pan
congealing into a thick pool of white
dishes cleaned and put away,
an ice cold soda sits perspiring on the table,
pillows on the couch are undisturbed.

In a parallel world things would be loud
tiny five year-old feet running, giggles
sticky hands reaching out for more…
hugs, snacks, chocolate milk, and one more book.
Hand print art, plastic alphabet magnets stuck to the fridge
stuffed animals and toys littering the living room
a day of plans… new swim suit, birthday party, visit to the park,
an afternoon nature hunt where we would name the birds;
Brown thrasher, White-throated sparrow, Northern Cardinal.

Instead, there is a normal peace surrounding the day
the silent hum of the air conditioner
daylight stretching ahead with no shape to take
I think of my parents and miss them with a deep ache
I think of my first angel baby six years young
playing hide and seek in the clouds with her four angel siblings
jumping from sun rays to moon beam to galaxy.

I hold the only picture I have of you, a glossy square
sea of black, gray, white… an abyss of possibility
your tiny, tubular shape no bigger
than a grape floating in a womb, no sound, no light, yet
the most powerful Force I’ve ever known.
The Force of energy was too great and you drifted
out to space, gravitational waves reflecting,
spinning into the heavens…a sea of stars.

My womb couldn’t hold you in…
help you grow, divide your cells
building your fingers and toes
pumping blood into your tiny heart,
growing skin, eyelashes, but
above you live bigger and brighter
your purpose greater than this quiet place.

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Christina Ruotolo is an award-winning poet, creative writing instructor and editor of Her Magazine. She was shortlisted for the 2019 James Applewhite Poetry award, finalist for the 2020 Alex Albright Creative Nonfiction Award, runner-up for the Heart of the Pamlico Poet Laureate in 2021 and a long list finalist for the 2023 Fish International Poetry Award. She is author of the poetry collection, The Butterfly Net and the nonfiction book, The Day the Earth Moved Haiti. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in Wednesday Night Poetry, Petigru Review, NC Bards Poetry Journal, Gyroscope Review, Heron Clan X, Does It Have Pockets, and in various other magazines and journals.