In my life
I have known of cradles;
where the walls that
surround and protect you,
rock back and forth.
The slow sensation
reminding you that you are here
you belong
you are loved.
But I have grown to love other cradles.
There was the cat’s cradle.
A mess of string that when woven
between fingers somehow made sense.
It was a conversation between me and you,
another back and forth.
What strings would you pull
other than the ones in my chest?
Then there are the cradles that involve no string
No pieces of lumber.
Just arms,
and my heart listening to yours.
There is a comfort, a sense of security.
You feel grounded.
Like two figures molded out
of the same clay, but never separated.
You have the hands of a sculptor
as they slowly run over my cheek
pressing in ever so slightly
over my dimples.
I wear nothing but a blanket
and a smile,
but I have never felt more beautiful
or whole.
I am here.
I belong.
I am loved.