The Hamlet Project

Beneath this cloak is a small tender thing.
It is soft and uncertain, precious
Like someone’s first born baby. It grows in swaddled darkness.
It’s not a secret so much as a vulnerability,
A tenderness that might shrink in the light.
If you knew it was there, you might lift the cloak,
Unwrap the blankets, you might reveal it before its time.
I’m waiting for it to open its eyes so it can greet the world
When it’s ready. When it’s grown.