Welcoming You Home
I remember when I brought you home 19 months ago with a bag of clothes you’d soon outgrow, moments between us you’d outgrow too.
I remind myself of this late at night, through the hallway tunnel, while I’m crossing the bridge made of your cries.
I become the tireless arch across where you lie, or the island that floats in stormy waters.
I wear your sleepy breath on my chest like armor. Yes I’m tired, but my protests of tending to your needs is tiring too.
I’ve been lost, I’ve ached and my heart has screamed with swinging feet that find the ground.
Your needs know not of inconvenient hours.
And love shines brightest in the dark.
I brought you home 19 months ago, and I will keep bringing you home every night that you need me.
You’ll outgrow your clothes, you’ll outgrow this phase and one day the nights will be filled of slumbers and restful hearts.
In some ways you’ll outgrow me then too.
You won’t remember this, but I hope you remember the light in the dark, the one you’ll search for no matter how old you are.
Always welcoming you home.