Miscarriage

A growth forms inside me,
knit in secret and
as yet
yet to be.
It bulges my circumstance
with the hint of new life, an
intoxicating fragrance.
With each affirmation
the fullness enlarges,
anticipating the merge
of two halves into whole.
Surely it's coming
soon to arrive
with its bundle of joy
everlasting.

Delivery

Birth.

Like death, it is the fullness

of requisite labor pains

of sorrow and travail,

someone else’s constant toil

to bring us

in a moment

from where we are to where we yet will be—

on the one hand, joyously,

from the unseen to the seen;

on the other, tearfully,

from the seen into the sea

which spans the sands of time,

a great Cloud which stands over and above us

full of witnesses to choices made,

both good and evil.

This Someone watches over us,

to make sure all is well,

makes sure we make it

to our destination,

temporal or 

eternal.

Funny how the way we come is very near

the way we go—

through another’s constant vigil,

brooding,

working,

striving,

toiling

to bring us safe and sound

to our new home.