In my belly, now flat,
curled a spine
with indistinct tissue
wrapped around
its tiny bones
like those of a bird.

I imagine them now
bleached by the sun
and gathered by the wind
into some sheltered corner
like pickup stix.

In that corner,
sand, brittle leaves, acorns
layer alongside, under, above
and make another mound
perhaps more permanent.

Perhaps not.
My beating heart moves to them
and follows each turn
of their journey.

They flutter inside of me
restless, kicking for love,
wondering, always wondering,
whose arms will hold them.

They find kindness instead
in the rocking
of this soft breeze,
in the tending
of these haven leaves.

They flutter,
on and on.
I bless them,
this mound.

Set in motion by Jeff Schwaner’s beautiful Effigy Mounds.

For Mother’s Day. I find parenthood to be a place fixed somewhere between keeping and letting go. In every stage, realized or not.