Saturday, December 26, 2015
Undertone
Motherhood is a perpetual grief.
I see you, skin separate from my skin
and I am stretched
a hollowing elongation
my body split in two.
Fact: bone of my bone
and flesh of my flesh
my breath was your breath
my blood your life
and now the same
life to life, milk to mouth.
But in a series of celebrations
I taste loss on my tongue.
You sit, you stand, you sound out
your own sounds with your soft skin
flexing and stretching and changing
and I do not know if my heart can swell
to the size your distance demands
as though these growing pains of yours
tug sharp in my belly where I bore you
where I bear you
as my closest secret.
Motherhood is one long loss
from skin to speech
and no one told me
how to grieve it.
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