Beginnings

I’ve buried that girl I clung to with these aged hands.
Six months ago I buried that girl, down she went
with your pale flesh, in that wooden casket, under dirt
and the seasons of rain and snow
I buried that girl, she will never know
Who I am now, a woman attempting to embrace
The start of what should be a joyous time
As a child, someone’s child, my child
migrates his head across my form, his pillow
in his own innocent and seemingly immortal slumber
he wakes up to cry or fuss and then drops back to sleep
in a new position, breathing in mom and feeling safe — 
The safety one can only feel when one knows nothing,
prior to growing up and not fearing but knowing grief
Its asphyxiating foreverness, its swollen solitude,
its malignant melancholy where you try to find
time to pause and appreciate something
to appreciate that despite permanent endings
there are still, somehow still,
filled with wonder,
filled with possibility,
still there are beginnings.