Beauty Born

A poem in honor of my kids' birth mothers.


I rock my baby,

feeling his hand wrap around my finger.

His seven months of life

sleeping deeply, soundly, safely

in my loving arms.


I imagine the horror

of his hand unraveling from my finger.

His seven months of life

now sleeping deeply, soundly, safely

in the arms of someone else.


I feel the grief,

but only for one imaginary moment.

My compassion grows, as I understand

that this grief is the kind that

overcomes, entangles, paralyzes.


This grief is the kind that

unravels

you.


I hear you - an echo

as she dribbles her ball,

as he sings his song.

Your beauty emanates

from them, in them.

Your heartbeat creates

their rhythms, their very lives.

I don’t know your grief,

but I know the beauty

that was born from it.





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