This is an old, old one. Dedicating it to Clara, my firstborn, on her birthday.

Becoming

In your womb
she rests
drawing from blood, bone
all she needs.
Your heart calls hers
to sing its rhythm.

Your fear,
the losses you’ve sustained
cannot touch her here.
She grows safely
formed in perfect
warmth,
silence,
darkness.

She forms you, too,
calling forth a self
you didn’t know you possessed.
Your mind and heart
grow strong
around her.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith