When the newborns comebyannaswirls©
When the newborns come
we bring them to her first
to lower the blanket wrapped
package into skeletal arms.
Covered in paper skin and propped
with tapestry pillows, these arms
held lovers as if life depended upon not letting go,
arms muscled with the weight of children
thrown into the air, carried on hip.
Rings slide freely,
trapped behind swollen knuckles
of fingers that typed with relentless passion.
Steel and riverstones,
longing and loss
searching and searching.
We have heard stories,
how she laughed too loudly,
said too much.
She now smiles in silence
with tears trapped in deep grooves
that carry the words no one will hear.
I write this today
to tell children of children
how their foreheads were cleansed
by her last poems of joy
holding on to the living miracles
as if life depended upon not letting go.