All My Dreams

All my dreams now are about

losing you, trying to find

where I put you down to sleep

then following your cries like a

game of “hot” and “cold.”

I wake up wrestling with the sheets,

as though you were lost in the ocean of them.

I wake up jolting toward your bassinet

scanning for your small frame in the dark

swaddled like an inch-worm.

I bend down and scoop you up, press

my face into your warmth like I would

a bath towel straight from the dryer.

You put your baby arms around my neck

and rest your head on my shoulder,

still half-asleep, hands scrunching

the fabric around my collar.

You hold on for dear life,

breathing in the smell of my Dove soap

and L'Oréal shampoo. I don’t know

what you dreamed about, but

as you hold onto me, I hold onto you.

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