Friday, November 9, 2018


her eyes never opened
her tiny feet & hands showed no lines
minute body in a shoebox
stood lonely on the table
in a party dress
her birthday
celebrating her first nine months
her moving living spirit inhabited me
I had held her for a moment
no bigger than a handsbreadth
a heartbreath
that scent
that baby scent
in the quietest span of time
anyone could imagine
she was so anxious to come
so, blessing us she flew into the world
too easy to say an angel
what else could she be with no sins
no sorrows
her soul a drift of purest snow
her breath a forgotten wind

she never saw us with her eyes
but sensed us in the time of mourning
she gifted us fragility
she let us know
that even broken dreams
are Life to Spirit
that weight as of a wisp
a feather
an infinite time
I felt her in my deep
my deep
the pool with no bottom
the well of letting go

should I be glad she’ll never know
the bleakness of a world
where children live in cages
where hard and ugly taunts
surround her difference?
is it selfish to be sad
I’ll never tie her ribbons
listen to her secrets
heal her wounds?

I held her just that one brief moment
touched skin as delicate
as flower petals
unbruised by the rough grip of Life
before I had to give her back
to the earth
to the sky she came from
to tell of innocence and immortality
to remind us that perfection lies
                                in not having lived at All
in the World

© 2018 pamela twining