Letter to My Daughter

I loved you when you
were just an blue line
in a white window.

I loved you when you
were a tiny butterfly
exploring the vast darkness of my womb.

I loved you for the seventeen hours
I spent guiding you into the world.

Seventeen hours it took,
because I wasn’t ready to be a mother.

But I loved you when you first met my waiting arms,
a crying cub emerging with only its naked instincts.

When you looked at me with your newborn squint,
I stopped.
Time stopped.
The world stopped.
It didn’t wake up again for years.

“You’re so beautiful!” I cried.
And you cried for three months straight.
Nothing consoled you, but I did it anyway.

I rocked you and nursed you and nuzzled you tight
because of the off-chance that something might help.

It never did.
I still loved you.

In the baby blue tunnels of your eyes,
I see the blanket-sky of your future
and the stars that spell out the promise
that you will never be alone.

I will hold you up until you can hold your own.
I will love you close up
and I will love you from a distance.

From your Forever Mommy,
with love, hugs and kisses.

The Bath (Death Should Feel So Good)

I lie
frog-legged and weightless.
Motionless.
An Egyptian princess
in my pink porcelain coffin.

In my head
I float down the Nile.
I'm so far gone
I nudge myself to breathe.

This should be alarming.