The Story I Want to Tell Her

I can spread my fingers across her chest, span
the width of her rib cage. Asleep, she seems so fragile,
but that is not the story I want to tell her.

I want her to know that she is strong enough
to endure nine months of gestation, thirty-two
hours of labor and all of the living she has ahead.

But this will come later.  Today, I steady her breathing
with my palm, feel her heart beat under my thumb
and help her sleep a few minutes more.

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