the slow joy of motherhood

I hold her gaze, my arms opening
to the music of who we are

her delicate yellow dance my hours
grasped, dreamed, once distant, once

a lark about the house that woke
the slow joy of motherhood in me

her sweet earthly way
needing my journey smooth, my laying down

of self, my speech of love, it’s low, steady drum
it’s morning arms that open and open

in the tender days of flying,
of impossible holding. Tender, but at once blessed.


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