To Aubrynne

To Aubrynne

Baby Girl,

You’re melting

like the ice you pluck

from cold’s last stash:

February’s eating all the snow

and so are you.

You toddle toward me

ruddy feathered hair

flapping,

an abandoned field of barley

blown by February’s sneeze.

Deposited in my waiting palms

for safe-keeping

Your treasure transmogrifies

before you or I can blink

or push it back.

You laugh

your jabber cousin-tongue

to drip and wind and puddle-splash

Your babyhood

slips through my fingers

like winter before the Chinook.

Sheralee Hardy

February 17, 2017