First before nothing
was zero; that dark space
a gap;
the first baby
could sing it;
surprise at the brightness; the blackbirdsoaked
morning;
the lips a round gurgle; the first cry
a tickle; turned into a flood.

First cry was waiting
for round lips to soften; the well up; surprise at
the full stop. The ending;
a halt in the ground.

And first words like Daddy
are heard on a hard day
like breaks
in a sound.
First teeth in line up are waiting
all counting
the gums;
the crown hoards in darkness;
the shapes of the sounds.

Naming those first words
like gold and like ground.

But back to that zero before those things happened;
Before In the beginning; the husband complaining;
the wife was a message; a gold-digging cow.

You were wandering out; seafarer in pram.
Beach was a gold space; a song bird;
song turning all shadows dark red.
You tipped over the edge.

Nicola Mayne