On certain days
I can slip into a mothering skin
Use words that slide along the morning’s edge
Pull in warmth from the open windows
My fingers
Braid light into their hair
Trace constellations across their skin
Some days
I delight in the very existence of their fingernails
In the miracle of sex and birth
And the reflection of my face in theirs
On other days
Mothering is stiff
Uneasy
A skin that won’t molt
Sharing breathe feels
Like dying
Like a stone
Sinking fast into dark water