by Justine C. Tajonera
The world shifts
with different eyes.
When time is running out
the color of the sky
is a blur.
There are days
when all I see is your face,
your hands,
how your limbs
have grown.
There was a time
your whole fist
would fit
in my palm.
Your sibling grows
quietly inside me now.
Your tone is apprehensive
with the talk of this new intruder,
your fingers pointing,
curious,
at my growing
belly.
Will my heart fit
the two of you
as snugly and as as surely
as your arms
around my
neck?
I've learned that love
can fit the tiniest
grain of hope
and the heaviest
burden of
regret
like the arms
of a
mother.
For Badger
(May 17, 2010)
Image from http://www.rudecactus.com/archives/DSC04178.edit.html
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