Motherhood

The shudder of her
Pale blouse
Reveals a head.
Red wine lips hook
Onto a peaked nipple,
The mother reclines.
She strokes, wordlessly coaxing.

Love for her flesh
Of flesh is
Out-standing;
My hand shook to
Touch her swelling
Stomach,
What marvels!
I felt the faint pulse of
Another,
Their beating hearts
Over-lapped each other’s,
When I told her,
She cried.

I was too cautious to
Ask her how
The delivery went.
Instead,
I gaze curiously at
A dimpled face
Tucked beneath
Your chin,
Tiny fingers unlatch while
It suckles.
A nine-month process for this—
Your delicate daughter who
Smiles more than she blubbers.

Much later,
The bliss and easiness fades.
Parenthood celebrated with
Tantrums, wobbling wails, and
Random men,
She grows, your daughter,
And resents.
Eighteen years of
Selflessness,
You poured your
Affection into her,
Oblivious to the outcome
But I wonder when were
You the happiest:
Was it the dull blue of your pregnancy test?
Or her rosy cheeks, flushed from birth?

I cannot help but recall
Your tears,
My fingers gingerly caressing
Your breast and
Guided south to your five-month lump,
Underneath the irony
(You avoided babies and despised men.)
There was a yen turned true.
Her small orb of heat with a soft heart beat
Was a menace yet a
Calming presence,
We stood in silence, debating
Amongst ourselves for the
Resolution;
Then came the climax—
Your face bowed and
I cried with you,
Suddenly understanding the love and the hate.