Once, the night moved around us,
rocking chair and eye contact,
a baby moon orbiting my solar plexus.
The days unspooled like crises, like
songs, spilled Cheerios, astonishment.
One moment my baby tied her shoes alone,
she told a truly funny joke, ate arugula
unprompted. Her teeth are all adult, straight
below her mascara-rimmed eyes.
They could be stars now, she is
golden and electric, unfaded jeans.
Her light got into everything.
Katy Luxem is a graduate of the University of Washington and has a master’s from the University of Utah. Her work has appeared in Rattle, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, SWWIM Every Day, Poetry Online, and others. She is the author of Until It Is True (Kelsay Books).