What they want, I cannot give them, Lord.
What I have, they do not want.
I reach for answers, and come up empty.
A solitary ache steels between my eyelids
and chases sleep dead in the night.
How does a mother love, love truly
if she cannot bear to like?
Slowly, slowly, each labored breath
is sweet anticipation of goodbye.
For now, all I ask
is for the grace of hello.
(c) Heidi Hess Saxton 2017