There is nothing else about the baby that one might call unusual, nothing uncharacteristic of other babies. The baby does not skip rope. The baby does not levitate. The baby cannot line up dominoes across the kitchen counter with his mind. The baby just glows.
The baby is not bright like a fire or a star. His light is soft as a glow stick's, the kind you buy at a carnival and snap to make shine.
"Luminescent Baby Shocks World!" one headline reads. Another: "Fire Baby Hot to Mother's Touch!"
The baby's body temperature is 98.6 degrees.
It startles the mother to open the nursery door to a radiant cloud over the crib. Then, she remembers, takes him in her arms, and holds him the way any mother would hold any baby.
The baby does not glow sometimes. The baby is always glowing.
– from The Baby Glows by David James Poissant, published in the Summer 2010 issue of The Southern Review
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