No One But Me

Many months ago, when Violet was new, I wrote, "there is no one to save you in the small hours" still thinking only of myself. Of course, no more than a foot from arms slept a tiny baby, who was with me at all times. I helped her and rocked her and fed her and changed her and photographed her and marveled at her and loved her, but I still was only thinking about me. Sorry for me. Worried for me. Who would take care of me? "If I cried out/who would hear me up there/among the angelic order?" Oh, Rimbaud, let's go to sleep.

But, of course, that worldview has all but vanished. I have shifted, or submitted to a shift in the cosmos. The existence of Violet means I must be busy doing the saving. When she's crying, when she's hurt, in the dark, in the night, when she is confused and wakes up from a nightmare she can't explain. I am here to save her in the small hours. When all seems bleak and hopeless. When terror sets in. And maybe, through this unforced action, through love which struck immediately and a gentleness which has developed over time, I will also learn to guide myself, out of deep water, until we all are sound.