For Maura

Do what is best for your baby, they whispered.
It is not you who is best for your baby,
were the plain as day words.
Shut the door, you'll forget, they said softly,
Listen well, this is best kept hidden from view.
Words ever spoken, always heard.

Unloved and unlovely, we gave birth to our babies,
and then wept goodbye to our babies,
knowing already that the door had swung open,
saw the ache walking through with
an I'm here to stay grin,
words never spoken, always heard.

Did you know that you've always been loved?
A small face in a photograph seen only by me.
(Please, God, if you'll just keep her happy and safe.)

The words in your letter blur as I read them
over and over.
My hand lingers on your unfamiliar name.
I hold it tightly. This will not be taken away.

On Saturday , we will meet.
On Saturday, what will happen?
On a perfect Saturday in a suddenly perfect world,
I see a young woman flying down the hill,
so lovely, I catch my breath.
You are running to me for the first time,
and my soul leaps to meet yours in startled,
joyful recognition.

Gently, carefully, I fold you, newly precious one,
into my arms,
arms empty for twenty-nine years,
and my eyes close in gratitude.
We move towards a future that shimmers with promise.

Did you know that you've always been loved?
As I now

am well loved

by you.

(Will you take off your shoes so I can look at your toes?)