The air is cool

Waiting for your work.

I wrap myself in

A white hospital blanket

Cocooned

Pulling it over my head

In reverence

A chador.

Your husband snaps

A photograph and feeds me

Crackers and peanut butter

In small, cellophane packages.

I rest,

Waiting, like the cool air

For you,

For Jaron.

Holding your leg, strong

Open

Counting your contractions until

Hoarse, until

Life spills from you

Slipping out like

a fish.

Boyfish.

He is six today.

He wears glasses and reads

Chapter books.

We retell the story

Of the cool air

Of his arrival, once

Again.

One day he will

Say “Mom,”

“Enough.”

Yes, Boyfish, You are

Right.

To be invited into

Life, is

Enough.