It's 4 AM and my suede coat is soaked in pee
For my daughter
You were the most beautiful girl at our Christmas Party
(your mom and sisters excluded), shimmering
in brand-new pink sparkles like sunrise
dew, arms slicing through your sleeves like bronze blades
of grass. You sang "Jingle Bells" with me,
peeling back the corner of your coy pout,
revealing a smidge of the joy that left you
crying when the evening had to end. They say men fight wars
over smidges like yours; I enlisted during that very first
cry, when you felt the Chicago cold pierce
your amniotic coat in our hospital room,
that very first cry when your squalls broke
into my glands, whipped my tears
into a frenzy, and dragged them down my cheeks
to join the effort. So when you asked me to snuggle
until you got to sleep I said yes,
and when you asked for a cup of water
(then another) I said yes
and for me to take off my brown suede coat
and zip you up in it before I left the room,
I kissed your exposed forehead
and said yes
