15 Weeks

Song of Your Growing

Sleeping in your nest of lanugo
super-fine hair
4.5 inches crown to rump
what growing fruit to compare you to?
This week you are an apple.
And all these metaphors have made me a tree
walking barefoot, my toes the roots,
my hair wild tangles
of branches.
Praise the ancient wisdom of language
that "truth" should spring from "tree"--
that solid life-giving reality
reaching in the earth and to the sky--
trunk weathered, bark as original as your
unique fingerprints will be.
As you begin to sense light, and develop
so you can live independently,
know I have cherished carrying you
and have never felt less lonely.
But from the moment of life,
all growing is a growing away.
And I will do my best to be a good
mother-tree and not expect you to flourish
in my shadow. Still, forgive me,
even when I am able to kiss your toes
and trace the outline of your profile,
if I miss this inseparable time.