Rebecca Lehmann
Zephyr
Each morning trumpeted into being with a chorus of baby squawks.Daffodils pushed through the barely revealed spring mud. Crusted snowclung to the curbs. In his crib, my infant son sucked his fistuntil he gagged. The polka dot mesh crib bumper that we painstakinglyselected surrounded him. In the afternoons, I pushed the stroller aroundthe block and …