wildscape. literary journal

the first time
by Peter Chiu

i am asking about all the moments 
            that coalesce into one - 
like how sunlight passes 

            through a glass of water that 
falls in the kitchen, and you clean
            the broken shards 

with reckless abandon, 
             scoffing at the bit of glass 
embedded on the side of your hand as you sweep. 

              some months later, you are lying 
on your back, hearing the first cry of
              our daughter after the nuchal cord around her

neck is released when your belly is split by 
             the surgeon’s blade and the curtain 
covers your belly like a prayer

             and you tell me that you want 
to look over the other side where the light pools
             together. limbs and hair in the nurse’s arms 

and already, you are beckoning her to come 
	     and be held, to see sunlight pass
through the hospital window for the first time.

about the author // Peter Chiu