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After all the lamentations, however, I know I have loved my daughter as much as any mother. I was born to love her. I have held her for moments too brief, and carried her for nearly countless weeks. I have shared moments with her, even now as she sleeps silently. It is hard to be Sophie's mother. I have to love her and her memory without ever holding her again. I will never see her grow up, but my love for her will grow as would any mother's. So, this brings me to the question. Who am I? I am not a mother. I am a mother. I have no children. I have a daughter. I do not have a family. I have a family, rich in love and memories. There is no answer to this question that is now an intrinsic part of me. Just something to think about.
I am a body of deep royal sadness.
Tangible moving living breathing
The waves roll in
The waves roll out
Like captured salt brine water
In the sea
The wisdom sadness lives forever
Birthing swelling within me
Empty shallows of skin
Sandbars of golden wheat
Peeking from beneath hot bath
Breasts once teeming
Now empty and hanging across an almost boyish chest
Hands once trembling with the need to give
Now depressed and deflated
Holding nothing
Hips, spread and stretched
The skin peeled back - lashed red striations -
I have drowned in feeling myself a mother.
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