My Sister's Baby

Fastened in my arms, I rock our embrace back and forth til her ivory lids slump downward in forfeit. Her wee nails fold into a prayer, as her rosy bottom lip juts out, all lustrous and glossy. I open my mouth and sing the songs my own mother used to trill so long ago. As her limbs shift, preparing herself for a wide yawn, all of Heaven and Earth stands still, awaiting her vestal roar. The slight rise and fall of her fragile chest commands in myself a reverence that has never before looked me in the eyes. This girl does not belong to me; nor do I want her for my own, but her gentle pulse thumping against my chest reminds me that the emptiness she rests upon is a vessel. Mother and Grandmother beseech me to hurry; I won't always have my youth. We dance in the circles of my endless refusal, their denial careening above. For all of my reservations, I cannot refute the enlightenment that now washes over me. Then tiny feet kick to waken, and a sulky howl meets my ears. This girl does not belong to me, nor does she need to, for in our encirclement, I am a mother.