Surrender to the Moonrise

Five days after my abdomen was cut open,
my uterus removed for cleaning then shoved 
back into place– she crawls across my belly
to breast, shakes her head in fits
searching for sustenance

by instinct
before she can even breathe through her own mouth. 
Sheets soaked, shirts stretched and soured, 
each with two round spots. Leaking. 
Milk does not taste like honey
when it has soaked into my couch. 
My let down flows so fiercely it chokes her. 
She has lost too much weight.
The insidious attack of an alarm wakes us 
                to feed 
every 	  two 	hours.
I am a vessel.
I hallucinate walking down the steps, 
unbalanced with her in my arms. 
I throw a spoon at her father.
I lose my hair clip in the refrigerator.
I cry because the sun shines.     I am lonely 
and completely attached.

And yet, it is 
Skin to skin 
we melt; 
the gentle warmth of the moonrise
hearts satiated 
oxytocin and
                True Love.

Katharine Cristiani

Katharine Cristiani

is a mother, union organizer and poet living in Philadelphia. She is an emerging writer, working on her first collection of poems. She builds campfires under any weather conditions with love and prowess.