We Love Because He First Loved Us

 

When a father’s hand cradles a daughter,

envelops her in worn and wrinkled skin,

love pours down from Heaven and lands, sprinkling

open eyes with dew and streams of rich

velvet. Chocolate tufts mingle with half-formed curls,

enwrapping her fresh face with wisps of hope,

belonging. Steam rises, the weighted touch

echoes her aching heartbeat as heavy

cords spill from her wet chest. She endures being

 

anointed with blood, oxygen, and stomach

untethered. The womb cries, yearning the full

shape of life to come back home, to dance,

elated within a pocket of unsevered skin.

Hope fades as nurses, doctors rush, sensing

emergency and quickened pulse. Her father

finds a place to peer through the window,

insisting to be near as her mother

rolls, contorts, and dreams of her daughter’s life

 

still unblossomed. Crisp golden laughter chimes

throughout empty hallways beaming pink,

light, and flowery. She stands tall, his gruff hands

overlapping hers, tracing the stomach

vividly protruding. Curled hair glows

excitedly within her, mimicking.

Daughter becomes mother, empty and full wombs

united as one. Dew forms from half-hearts,

steam and love rise the way it once poured down.