21

Sweet pea was in bloom.

I carried it.

We waited a long day on the threshold of life,

then she was ours.

Round, squashed, dimpled and perfect.

Pink years, growing years.

A butterfly.

Pride-tinged love struggling

as the umbilical tugs gently, intermittently,

then releases.

Faint singed wings,

and all the while the reaching.

A single thread of love, delicate, strong.