Mon enfant

Every hour I am away from you
I want to draw you closer
But I still can't understand
the reality of you
You are still but an extension
of my being
Must I love myself before I can love you?

On Motherhood

But the strength of God is sewn in my seams;
binding this patchwork being.
Stitching the skin to heal
in silvered scars.
Like a punctured wineskin
I pour forth into you
my child.
You rent and tear my heart.
He holds us together

His seams weave my being anew.