The nurses had to show me how to fold
The blankets around you and I wrapped my arms the same way,
Following their lead,
Tighter at first and then loosening as you moved.
It seemed like you were always trying to see something just out of reach.
We were always shifting to adjust
And then you’d grow and I would just try again. It’s true.
I never knew how to hold you.
Now that you’re half grown and I still don’t know
If I gave you what you needed.
Mothering is as one-sided as grief is—
A relationship made for constantly leaving
(And returning)
I never knew how to hold this awareness
As a constant
Other than to keep coming back and trying again. It’s true.
I never knew how to hold you.
