the baby photographer

baby sleeping in a basket and a round feather surrounding the basket
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

She ties them up in woolen blankets,

Baby pinks and powder blues,

With bows around their tiny heads

As they sleep through flashing lights

And shutters clicking in the millions,

Parents standing proudly to the side.

She’s maybe only two weeks old,

Already loved enough for them

To spend that money on those shots

That sit in albums til she’s 21.

But the lady with the camera

Tries each month to have her own,

And each month when dreams are dashed

She cries in pain in bathroom stalls,

Drying tears to meet another pair

Proudly holding baby girl,

The life she wants with all her soul,

The dream she hides each day at work

With smiles and coos and coochy-goos

To mask the hurt inside.

5 thoughts on “the baby photographer

  1. Margot Kinberg

    What a moving poem, Rachel! You really capture that grief so well. To dream of a family and not be able to have children – how hard that must be when you’re around little ones all the time. You express that sorrow beautifully!

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