Through pain and prayer I emerge 

**** breath for the first time 

and though I see not you, but a blur

I know you from the inside

hand held, I am walked with care 

over linoleum and playground 

and altar, to grow into myself, 

cheek wiped. And then you let go

as all mothers must. But never leaving, 

even when, ungrateful, my brittle ego 

takes me far from you, pretending I can 

find a space more sacred on my own

You gave me that dream.

And everything else—for you gave me life.

And although I must, trying to improve
on that is futile.