To you, yet unborn, (or born to another mother)
in blood and tears, I longed to be your mother.
You should know I wanted you from the beginning;
there was never a time I didn’t want to be a mother.
I saw you in the clouds from the bus that day,
I knew who you were and knew I was your mother.
I would stuff the couch pillow in my shirt
to crack up my roommates and pretend to be a mother.
I chose names for you and finally settled on two,
that I’m waiting to bestow, like any mother.
Once, I walked angelic when I housed your sparkle,
and then you were gone. I was dethroned as a Mother.
My bones have ached to crack open and bear you,
to push you panting into this world of mothers.
I have smelled your skin, felt your tap on my shoulder.
I have heard you laugh, I heard you call me Mother.
Believe me, I have hoped for you, and I ask
you to forgive me for not being your mother.