Wishbone

I’ve been thinking of the distance between my mother and me

To take my first breath her body opened wide

When I was housed in the safety of her womb

She expanded and contracted so we could become

Two halves of a wishbone

The spring in a bird’s skeleton necessary to fly

As an infant I spent hours tethered to her

Arms that let go long enough to make me crawl

And wide enough to reach for me after my first steps

I’ve never done anything without trusting

my umbilical cord will still be attached to her

We have a period of rest now

She had what is called a complete response

There is no measurable cancer inside her body

though what is in the smoldering shadows is what we’re afraid of. 

Despite the good news I think 

What I feel sometimes is that trust waning

It starts as a dull ache I can’t shake 

and gnaws at me until 

I am heaving fleshy wet sobs

Tears prick the back of my eyes all day 

and all night 

and into the morning

And then I realize what I want-- my mom. 

To be firmly attached to the weight of her body

Unable to fathom a life away from my first home

We’re tight-lipped about our feelings 

lest we let slip how much we love one another 

and what we’re scared to lose 

But I think she understood 

When I showed up face swollen, unannounced

She said a surge will come over her

Where are my babies? Are they okay? I can’t see them. 

I imagine that’s what it was

I needed to see her to know she was there 

That as I toddled away I could 

Turn around and find her waiting 

Eyes anchored to mine, “what’s wrong? I’m here.”

So I worry what happens 

When her body decides the final distance 

Another bright spasm of 

Breath, fluid, silence and wonder

This time giving way to the nothingness 

Of when you don’t get your wish

Two halves of one bone 

separated for good