She Holds my Heart

My first baby is turning thirty,
but she is and always will be,
my baby.

 She knows not how tightly she
holds my heart.

 There's no way she can
until hers is held by tiny fingers of her own making.



I didn't.

 My father warned me, how I wouldn't understand
until I held my own
in my arms.


The morning I stood outside the NICU,
watching my tiny daughter fighting for air, her two pound body
small amongst the machines,
my father's hand on my shoulder,
my eyes overflowing as he reminded me,
As I finally understood.

 And now, she is thirty.
Grown.
In love and loved.

Her future open wide to her dreams.
Far away.
Missed each day.

 And she knows not how tightly she
holds my heart.

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