02.25.01

sign my guestbook, pretty please?

she had always been so quiet. she, the most precious being in my life, who had reacched out and wrapped my entire being around her chubby little fist soon after birth. all the other mothers i knew complained about waking up to the screams of their child in the deep quiet nothings of the night, but i would wake, heart pounding, with silence screaming in my ears.

i would pad over to her crib to make sure she was still breathing, and often she would have her eyes open and she would be waving her arms around in what i--in my maternal bliss--took to be some primordial form of tai chi.

i could never understand her silence. i wanted to eat every syllable that escaped from her lips and catalogue it somewhere deep inside, where the ghosts of all memories live.

i worried that she hated me. she was the only thing i had ever done right, and my heart clenched painfully every time i looked at her. i couldn't bear to think that she would ever leave me. she was the most extraordinary being that i had ever known. i wanted to spend my entire life watching her sleep, her baby lips straining to push out the syllables she never spoke when awake.

she was proof, to me, of buddha nature. she was the most perfect, pure, being-- and i had given birth to her. i wanted to enclose her in my arms so that she would stay that way forever.

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xoxo,

moonbird

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