First Manicure

I sit in a shaft of sunlight beside my daughter
As she nurses her newborn baby.
The milk has not come in,
Nor has the child been named.
There is only our faith in colostrum,
That first mysterious flow of baby manna.

I find an emery board in the medicine chest
And file the tiny thumbnail of my grandchild’s left hand.
There is the slightest brushing, a feathery sensation
As the sand on the board smoothes the edge of the nail.
The only other movements in the room
Are my daughter’s hand stroking the infant’s hair
And the soft tightening of the baby’s hand
Around my index finger.
Perhaps a few new dust motes rise
In this shaft of sunlight falling on the three of us.

There are only two ways to live your life.
So says Albert Einstein.
One is as though nothing is a miracle;
The other is as though everything is.