Mother at Cana

For Kim, before the baby; and for Teddy, after.

Start with fingers,
tapping nonsense in patient time
on a swollen stomach,
stretched to blossom and burst.

Move to palms,
carrying their prize
a wine flask that might drop
before the celebration begins,
a gift for those who wait outside,
in anticipation of its sweetness.

Drop your gaze to legs,
cracking with expansion,
preparing for the last steps
of a journey,
miles all earned
in the pains of carrying
children like crosses.

Look at the face,
eyes closed and content,
even in this fracturing,
inevitable departure.

Look at this woman,
remember her face, limbs,
before it began,
before she held an imperfect mirror
to her breast,

before she gave you this gift.

Passion is the word for suffering,
for sacrifice, love.
Amazing and beautiful
that meanings exist, creation,
the demanded burden of giving life,
the start of the story,

the first miracle.