Stolen

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My arms are weak,

but my voice is strong.

I hold you, child. I hold the infant.

Slippery with pride, pink and wrinkled,

your soft skin pressed against my hand today.

I hold the baby. I hold him now.

Hair.

A surprise, a soft encounter--it's black.

My black.

What other mysteries do you have?

I peek in your mouth, so small.

Too small.

You don't know worry lines, but I do,

and I'm scared for you.

We hold our breaths and look at each other.

So afraid, so excited...

Your breath. Flowing.

Welcome to the world, then.

It is where you will

stay.

I pass you off to the mother,

heart beating

with what I've stolen.





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