The Newborn

October 14, 2011
By Chelsea Budrow BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
Chelsea Budrow BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The phone chimes;
My brother and I run to our grandma.
“Was that dad? Was it?”
She nodded, I was out of there
Like a cat out of the bag,
I ran,
Putting on the purple pants and Big Sister shirt, made the previous night.

In a second we were there.
With sweating hands I pulled my grandma down the hallways
Peering curiously into the rooms
I ran,
Hoping to see a face I knew.
“Mom!” I yelped b-lining into the room.

She sat in a stale, sticky, slump of a bed,
I see it, the balled and bunched up blanket, in her arms.
I ran,
Seeing my dad I leap over and latch onto his legs.
What was it? Do I have a sister or a brother?

My dad lifted me up onto his stone shoulders;
And then I saw her.
Slightly pink, pale and maybe a plum almost not even alive.
I ran, as she opened her eyes.
“She an alien, Daddy.” I said with confidence.
With a delightful chuckle he shook his head;

Setting me down on the bed I got a closer look.
Her eyes pitch black, just like her hair.
It seemed matted down, wet with water,
I ran
Feeling the warmth build inside me
I puckered up my lips,
Placed to her forehead.
And welcomed my new sister into this world.

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