Birthing Still

Having not given birth to a child,
I have not held the echo of my husband’s smile,
have not seen my mother in my grandchild’s eyes,
have not caressed the kin of generations long gone
and yet to come.

Having not given birth to a child,
I have not run the risk of letting others know me
more fully than I know myself—
my eccentricities and mundane moments,
reverberations and resting places.

Having not given birth to a child,
I yield less easily to the assaults of time,
and pray more fiercely for reprieve.
There is no name for regret that is transformed by love,
no place other than now, no wonder beyond awe.