A Mothers Confession Before you, I was still a child myself— a girl who made…

A Mothers Confession

Before you, I was still a child myself—

a girl who made her meals from instant cups.

Now I trace the crinkles on your fingers on my shelf

of broken sleep, and pray I’m good enough.

You fit so small against my collarbone,

your breath a bird that hasn't learned to fly.

I never knew a heart could feel so known

while trembling at a fever in the night.

Some days I miss the quiet I once had.

Some nights I cry into your baby hair.

But when you wake and find me you smile.

And I forget my own despair.

You’re teaching me to mother my own soul