
LULLABY IN BLUE
by Betsy Sholl
The child takes her first journey
through the inner blue world of her mother’s body,
blue veins, blue eyes, frail petal lids.
Beyond that unborn brackish world so deep
it will be felt forever as longing, a dream
of blue notes plucked from memory’s guitar,
the wind blows indigo shadows under streetlights,
clouds crowd the moon and bear down on the limbs
of a blue spruce. The child’s head appears—
midnight pond, weedy and glistening—
draws back, reluctant to leave that first home.
Blue catch in the mother’s throat,





