motherhood · Poetry

Hello There

I am allowed to love you,
though all I know of you now
is two pink lines.

a strange comfort found
in realizing there’s no safe zone
for life.

5 weeks or thousands,
I can celebrate you here
without ever hearing
the heartbeat.

I am afraid.
I want you forever.
but either way this goes,
I’m going to love you
past that.

so, without the illusion
of a safe zone,
or holding my breath
to the next milestone. . .

I’m left with you–
beautiful you,
and all my love
for your whole life.

hello there.
I am your mother.

S.V.F.

motherhood · Poetry

Bright Yellow Boots

if you’d stayed little
like all mothers sometimes
hope,

then I wouldn’t smile
so brightly now
watching you toddle
in your bright yellow
boots.

and one day
standing in the kitchen,
I’ll be having a conversation
with a man,
and I’ll wonder how it happened.
I’ll think back for
just a second
to once upon a time
when you fit perfect in my
young arms.

but you’ll say, “Mom,”
and I’ll look back at you
instead of everything,
and I’ll think how much I love
that you didn’t stay put
in those bright yellow boots
forever.

timeless string of moments,
never enough.
much too wonderful
to miss. . .
here is my grown son.

so
don’t stay small forever, son,
because I want to know
just who you are
once you grow out of those
bright yellow boots.

-S.V.F.

Poetry

Birth in Times Like These

They said it would be
too scary to bring
a baby
into this kind of
world.

As if someone’s birthday
shouldn’t happen
because we think only
in nightmares.

As if the weight
of our worry
is their reality
forever.

As if we are the
pirates
of all peace
and goodness.

As if God ran out
of His beauty
and power
and kindness
and love
the moment
we grew up
to give birth to the children
we wouldn’t even have
without
the hand of God.

Maybe it would be scary
if it was me
who brought this baby
instead of God
who brought this baby
to me.

but it’s just me
in an invitation
to hold my baby and see
so many good things
happen
after naively believing
only nightmares
come true.

-S.V.F

Poetry

Unmet Expectations

I didn’t know I
would

Grow to bloom
to be cut.

But I also
didn’t know-

I’d love how big she
smiled

When she looked at
all my petals. . .

The whole sun in her
one expression.

Or that I’d feel such
purpose

Held in the hands of
a gardener,

Gently transferred to
the water

To be seen on her
kitchen table.

Time slips away, or
does it really?

Didn’t it also give me
her smile?

A chance to be with
the gardener?

Grew, then bloomed,
was cut, then held.

I’ve been spent, and
I’ve been seen.

Lived with such great
light all along.

This is a vase,
not a coffin.

-S.V.F.