Weaning
Rivers of milk run down the mountains; your white cry flows along with your teeth. To help you to sleep I climb in beside you—we never sleep in the same bed twice. I’ve watched you grow half an inch in an hour, but when the milk runs low, and melting snow flows down the river, how will I know how to help you be strong, brave, and loving-kind when I’m still—
you know the answer, though, how to become yourself, but I’m the one who has to say it. Holding you, I balance on balanced rocks, afraid I’ll lose you, or drown us both in love. You must forgive me if I linger —
—Jennifer Woodworth. Many thanks to The Raw Art Review for first Publishing a version of this prose-poem.
That is so aching and beautiful, Jennifer! The part "but when the milk runs low, and melting snow flows down the river" struck me especially--what an amazing contrast!
I love the sense of desperation and almost-loss in this poem. "Balanced rocks" is a wonderful image—an object of strength and permanence but teetering and uncertain.