Her First Cold
I was a wreck when she started shivering
Her body shook
as she pressed herself into me,
like I was the only shelter left
in a storm too big for her lungs.
I held her close,
helpless,
wishing I could slip inside her skin,
carry the sickness
instead of watching it take her.
It reminded me of the newborn daysโ
how she fit like air in my arms,
weightless,
all need,
all trust.
Now she is heavier.
My back aches with her,
but it is a holy ache,
the kind that anchors me.
The world is unkind.
It will not spare her,
not even now.
But she does not know
the weight she gives me:
love so dense
I would never set it down.
I am her medicine,
her cure,
but she is mine, too.
About the Creator
Carolina Borges
I've been pouring my soul onto paper and word docs since 2014
Poet of motherhood, memory & quiet strength
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Dead and Wearing Green
She was wearing that green dress when I first saw her, five years ago to the day. Flowing meadow fabric draped over long legs, thick auburn hair flowing down her back. That smile. Of course, she is still beautiful now. But now she is no longer alive.
By Karen Cave5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Always such a heart wrenching time. Youโve captured the feelings of it very well
The ache and the healing bound together in your words really moved me. Iโve been there before ๐