Mother and Child

(Mother and Child by Christian Krohg, 1883)

In the red cradle she is finally asleep—

innocent, serene—

as if she’s always been.

The hand clutching the cradle

tells a different story,

resting, limp, protective,

above the upturned head.

The baby now quiet, mother has slipped

into dark, grey forgetfulness.

Her head rested— just for a minute—

on the bed’s hard rail,

lacking by inches the softer pillow of the

unreachable counterpane.

Eyes closed,

neck stretched— it will surely ache—

lips parted, she’s gone

into sleep’s kingdom.

Night’s long ordeal finally over,

daylight fills the room,

mother and child finally

are at rest.

~Melanie Bettinelli