Holy Forgetting
She screams—
and the world cracks open.
Her body, a battlefield
and a cradle
all at once.
Bones shift,
skin stretches,
time stops.
Pain like no other—
a flood,
a fire,
a tearing of heaven
through flesh.
And then—
a cry.
The cry.
And in an instant,
it all unravels.
The agony dissolves
into awe.
She holds the child
to her chest,
and all she can feel
is love—
wild, uncontainable love
that pulses stronger
than memory.
She should remember.
She should swear
“never again.”
She should count the cost
and close the door.
But already,
somewhere deep inside,
a whisper stirs:
I could do that again.
I would.
I want to.
What strange grace is this—
that the worst pain
is buried
beneath the weight of wonder?
What mercy
wipes the memory
clean with just one breath
from a newborn's mouth?
This holy forgetting—
it must be divine.
A miracle wrapped
in flesh and tears.
A mother’s heart,
made
to break
and love again.
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