
The rolling tightness became swallowed panic as grownup voices
and cradle the life inside me one more time.
My body betrayed me,
forcing me into a cold sterile world of tight lips and disapproving eyes.As my frightened parents gathered my things,
I lunged back inside for just one last moment alone
with the tiny life that had shaken my own
with her gentle worth.
I lowered my heavy frame onto my bed and tried to sing
one last lullaby.
It wouldn’t come.
Only tears,
a fragile goodbye.
I followed strong contractions back down the stairs
and into the night.
That was thirty two years ago.
Time has not erased the bright beauty of those days
with baby Rose.
I returned home with empty arms
and never saw her again.
But I remember her essence,
like a fragrance,
and am frequently swept into it’s melody
as it drifts across my heartstrings.
I recognize her song.
This is the thirty second celebration of the wonder of her life.
Today I let myself remember those days
before she was transplanted into the garden
where she grew and thrived,
those shimmery days when we were just us,
when she was still mine.
(thank you for reading along and letting me share this part of my heart with you)
