O, how you wish just to sleep! 

To eat,

to bathe

in the sweet milk of someone else’s breast.

To lie in the arms of your own mother

rocking you gently,

holding you closely,

whispering the sweet words

you are perfect.

And O, how you are!

Your body

Your body created life.

This life that comes home every time you hold it.

This life that recognizes only 

the thump of your heartbeat,

the smell of your skin,

the sound of your voice.

This life, that—with your perfectly flawed body— 

was germinated inside your belly.

Nourished—now still!—

by your body.

Nourished by your tired bones and sore arms.

You are enough.