a daughter is born
on wednesday morning
this first child by our "generation"
of six cousins
who grew up together like siblings
in the thursday twilight
of the hospital window
i hold my niece in my hands
a precious bundle of potential
my aunt takes her
and sings a song softly
my dad's side of the family
a father's heart fails him
on thursday night
an uncle i hardly knew
but the parent of a cousin
raised well to become a
smart, successful, faithful woman
at the sunday evening vigil
i look to her in the pew at the front
as the sound of
repeating hail mary's goes in
one ear and out the other
she is strong and resilient
her words at the end of the night
reflect a comfort in knowing
that he is with God now
oh this life’s dichotomy
from life and death in a given week
from singing lullabies in the maternity ward
to murmuring the rosary in the mortuary
"naked i come from my mother's womb, and naked i will depart. the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away"
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