Elizabeth Lyvers's

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An infant sleeps in a cradle

Dear Daughter

Dear Daughter, I’ve started and stopped this letter a half dozen times. Sleep deprivation is like a leaf blower blasting my words into chaotic circles, ruining any attempt at a neat pile of thoughts. But this afternoon I made a lovely cup of Columbian coffee and cradled you in the crook of my arm and the leaf blower calmed to a distant hum.  I started to read but mostly I couldn’t stop looking at you. You’re beautiful to me—your tiny...