The First Becoming

She held the tiny child and wept,

Though nothing yet felt real

As if her heart had somehow grown,

Too large for her to feel

The morning sunlight filled the room,

With gold along the floor

Yet every ordinary thing,

Seemed sweeter than before

A yawn became a treasured thing,

A stretch, a sleepy sigh

And somehow she could sit for hours,

Just watching closed-lash eyes

She swayed beneath the silver moon,

Through weary, fragile nights

Still half amazed that she alone,

Could calm those little cries

For motherhood arrived so soft,

Not loudly all at once

But gently, like the blooming spring,

That follows after frost

It lived within the quiet tasks -

Small socks and warming milk

Soft lullabies and rocking chairs,

And curls as fine as silk

And though the road felt strange at times,

Still new in every way

She felt herself become someone,

More loving every day

For every moment held a kind -

Of magic she’d not known:

To feel another little heart,

Beat softly with her own