I Used to Cry Over You, Then Longed for Your Tears
Motherhood hit me
Like a lightening fast bullet train—
Through projectile vomiting and tear-stained cheeks.
My compass was once a jagged line north,
toward a destination I couldn’t quite make out.
But that line was forever altered by a powder-pink stick.
I never thought I’d find joy
In seeing myself reflected by cerulean eyes,
Or chubby fingers wrapped round mine.
But when they tore you from my womb,
Baby blue and silent as night,
I called out to any god listening, begging for your wail.
The gods must have found favor in me.
For once in my miserable life,
They gave me a gift.
You healed what was long broken within me.
My son, I may have given you life,
But you gave my life purpose.
Author: Mickey Black
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