The pain was largely gone:
Just a few echoes
Like aftershocks
From a cataclysm.
I held him;
Watching each breath;
The miniscule rise and fall
Of his tiny chest,
Treasuring his tentative hold
On breasts awaiting milk.
And I marvelled
At the risk
Of the Creator:
Vulnerable God
In fragile flesh:
My world
Will never be the same.
His breath
Gentle on my cheek;
Like the movement
Of the Spirit on the waters:
Vulnerable God
In fragile flesh:
His world
Will never be the same.
Poem by Jeannie Kendall, reproduced with permission
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