in the doorway.
I hold my daughter close. She is incandescent;
I move to catch her, to absorb her before she is gone.
Her body incipient, delicate places I’ve embraced and loathed
the same. She is the sunrise,
on the cusp of everything
that is after
To hold my sons
is to love my husband, my father,
but to hold my daughter is to love myself; an eclipse.
In this moment, in this aurora,
I’m holding myself, as we two become three.
My mother becomes me.
And we are all standing
in the light