The baby came with the house.
As we walked up the sidewalk,
I saw him through the window lying in a crib.
Summer wind breezed the yellow curtains,
billowing them against railing sides.
He lay watching the flow of the tapestry
as it breathed in and out of the window
and he reached to grasp the edge
as it was inhaled against the wooden window frame,
his expectant eyes peering at me
through the glass from inside the empty room.
That was why I cried,
knowing we would never come again.
the baby came with the house.
~ by Roxanne Fehlaicer
I've had this in my collection for years, and unfortunately, I can't tell you where it came from. I know it was a Wyoming Anthology of sorts, published quarterly and that I picked up an issue at a library book sale when I lived in Laramie years ago. That's where the info stops. I didn't write down the book name when I copied down the poem and I no longer have the book.