New Baby Smell

By Briony Bunker

I expected hormonal magic. Candyfloss, cut grass on a summer evening, 

freshly baked bread. One of those sea breezes where the salt stings your face.

Not soil and iron, earth and blood, the taste of my own insides.

Later, there was washing powder, milk, a full nappy.

But others held her, closed their eyes, smiled and sighed.

Now I know. They were back, just for a moment, in some desolate, unending night.

Alone in a messy room, or the whole world, 

with their baby nestled in their arms, sleeping soundly.