I held you in my arms
I tried to hold you during the day but you were too
hard to keep in my arms. You were too loud and too
wild and always wanted more of me that I could give.
But at night, when your body slowed down and
your limbs went limp, I would climb into your crib and
hold you in my arms.
I was afraid I would break your bed, my body was so
big next to your and my weight was so much. But I
would climb in, night after night, so I
could hold you in my arms.
I felt ashamed, sometimes, that I couldn’t always love
you like I did in the dark. And each night I would
pledge to you with you in the arc of my belly that
tomorrow would be better for us both.
But tomorrow would come and so would my
frustrations and my fears and my follies.
And I would cry.
And I would curse.
And then, again at night, I would hold you in my arms.