She holds a distant memory
of when a heartbeat matched her own
a summer secret locked inside
a child barely known
A small now faded picture holds
a truth in grey and white
a daughter held for one short day
one silent lonely night
To give a life, to hold a life
to bear but never see
the future that the world might hold
for the child she set free
Two lives diverged, two stories cleft
one lost, one led away
the incense of a child’s warm hair
still binds her to that day
The first baby I ever held was my sister’s first child who was given up for adoption.
Bruce Aiken 