When I Hold the Child in Me, I am Holding You

 

 

In a bathtub
To a sad piano song
Crying
That I never held you closer
And more lovingly
So I could bring you back to life
The way I read about in articles.

I didn’t know how to love back then
The way your death
Taught me to love,
After.

I think now
I could have saved you
Repaired your little heart
But now I have a hole in my own
Left ventricle,
Holding space
Where you should be.

I guess it makes sense
That all this mourning
Of love
And sensation of departure
Is a cry out for you
To return to my arms.

After fourteen years
I have never forgotten your face,
How you trusted me
With your short life,

How I loved you.

I run toward love
Like I am running to you
You are love
To me
You held it in your un-moving body
And I have been
Searching for you
In the strangest places since,
Aislinn.

Every loss
Is the loss of you.

Any Small Donation

Mother’s Day
Isn’t for mothers
Wives
Sit in bed
Misty with smiling
While husbands push in their children
With pancakes on a plate.

It isn’t for mothers
Who brace the washing machine
While chicken roasts
And open lunch boxes
Sit on the counter
By a stack of dishes
While making a list
With one quaking hand
Cradling a little blond head
With the other.

Not for single mothers
Who fall into bed
Alone
After working four jobs
And relax to the sound
Of white noise
And weeping.

Mother’s day
Is for wives
Who can afford to
Expect
Any small donation,

Kindness.