The first time I held you, midnight delivery
from a stranger’s arms, a nurse’s frown
of order and rules because I dared to
fuss, to complain, to moan
that you had been taken away too soon
because I wanted that infant, pulled from
my womb under the desecration
of little white pills. We were out of sync,
that weeping spill down my legs but my body
calm and quiet, container and contained, and you saying let’s go.
No natural birth this time, no sucking infant
with the gaze of love, no instant fierce desire
to protect. We were out of sync but you slept
and I cried to hold you, you woke up
every time I laid down to blessed sleep.
You were my evening child with a smile to
split the dark, my boy with a golden heart. The years
roll by and still I have no answers. You were taken
away too soon, I never danced at your wedding. You alit
for heaven’s gate and I lay down, unholy wait.