Arvilla Fee
Reassembled
Noah’s large hands shake as he secures the tabs on the baby’s diaper. I turn my face, pretend not to notice. His daughter, our daughter, is six months old, but he wasn’t here when she made her debut. We’d talked about names during our brief video chats, but the frenzied static and frequent interruptions (on his end) made it nearly impossible to decide.
When the tiny infant slipped out from between my legs after ten hours of labor, and they laid her on my chest, I named her Willa—“resolute protector.” Fitting, for it was she who brought Noah home. The first sight of them together nearly took my breath away, Willa’s pink onesie against desert battle fatigues. A gear bag and diaper bag stuffed into our car. But our house, once cozy, suddenly seemed too small; Noah’s screaming nightmares took up so much space. Soothing became my specialty. Soothing Willa. Shh. Shh. It’s OK. Soothing Noah. Shh. Shh. It’s OK. Hearing Willa laugh, I turn to face them again. Diaper intact, Noah is nuzzling his nose into Willa’s neck, his tremors tucked away, for now.
bowl on the table
glue barely visible
in the cracks
About the Author
Arvilla Fee teaches English Composition for Clark State College and is the poetry editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses. Her poetry book, The Human Side, was released by Wipf & Stock December 2022. For Arvilla, writing produces the greatest joy when it connects us to each other.