Semi-Precious

Mrs. Feldspar prayed for a girl the only way she knew:
		with her pocketbook.
Carefully stenciling bows on the nursery wall
			connecting a long ribbon
				with space for baby’s name
	once she and Mr. Feldspar chose
		between Muriel and Emmeline.

For her shower, we made an enemy of boyish hue,
		eschewing sailors and fish hooks.
Gifts disgorged a framed lamb, a cotton-skinned doll
			dressed in a long poplin
				over a delicate frame.
	We stamped her cards with crimped rose
		for blessings Deep and Divine.

Imagine our surprise when they shuttered up the view.
		Pink bassinet on the curb, forsook.
We peeked at Mrs. Feldspar, her face a long fall
			from a high place, blame
	stitched into every coverlet, froze
		between hem and hairline.

Mr. Feldspar took to the babe as a boat takes on blue:
		with a sick lurch and queasy foot.
Only a matter of time til they go under, the pall
			of his boyish shame
	massing over the family like shadows
neither Pink nor Tourmaline. 

---

---