I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold you
for the full duration of your making.
A few times, I felt the spark and loss,
and began to grieve my childlessness
as my body’s flawed design.
And then you came and stuck,
expanding me like a swollen milkweed pod,
exiting me in a dark wave
on that winter’s first night of snow.
You were blue with the effort,
and looked at us, bewildered,
as we held your hot little body,
swearing in gratitude, in shock,
and wrapped you in wool.
your blonde hair a halo
around you as you sing about sheep
or the little star
we wish on in the night,
which you are.