Only Her Mother Poem by Bryanna Hudspeth

Helpless whimpers in the night summon me.
Yank me up and awake, steal my dreams.
Never drift too far or sleep too well. Don't sleep at all.
Frenzied seconds until her next demand.
Who am I, if not her mother?

Sweet vulnerable babe, always famished.
Ceaseless painful suckles on raw
Breasts like a container with a leak, never full.
Too few ounces, an incessant need for more.
Who am I, if I can't feed her?

Pale, tear-stained cheeks below dark circles
Draped from eyes that rarely close. Purple marks of skin stretched
Too thin. Here, it's torn then stitched like new.
Body bearing the scars of life created.
Who am I, if not her mother?

Her perfect soul, beautiful, unblemished.
Pristine, untouched by pain or loss or grief.
The one seemingly impossible task in this dark world.
Don't mess her up. Don't let them mess her up.
Who am I, if not her protector?

Dreams misplaced; ambitions destroyed.
Consumed by her. Imprisoned by my love and fears for her.
An experience I have desired forever, motherhood has depleted me.
It may break me, a fate I would choose again and again.
Because who am I, if not her mother?
I used to know.