The Teacher Poem by Val Morehouse
The Teacher
Childless, I fold you in,
and you wear my living bones
heedless as wooden coat hangers.
Finch-gold hair feathers against my length,
and your laughter chimes for
breathless moments over my heart.
But your baby notes soon fledge with fright
and fly the cover of my arms until
my hands cradle only clear air.
There inside my empty flesh,
you teach me how to hold
the ache for another woman's child.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 5:35:29 AM # 1.0.0.1119
