Scrunch and Me

(To Kaycee Lynn, on her 19th birthday)

I call her Scrunch

     -- sometimes –-

when I think of her

     the way she was, 

          newly born,

a tiny thing,

like her mother,

in the crook of my arm,

     head folded, protected,

     arms and legs tucked,

     her tiny fingers curling mine;

and snugly wrapped, she’s

safely scrunched into my arms.

Just she and I together,

     she asleep,

     me, almost,

          - the TV unwatched –

     watching her,

Scrunch and me.

I call her Scrunch

     - sometimes, remembering

          the way she was.