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Partings
by Haryanti Stuart
So many little deaths.
The first at birth.
I ask, “Please don’t cut the cord.
Not yet.
Wait until the pulsing stops”.
This conduit is too intimate
to sunder with so crude an instrument.
Months later, suckling you
before your weaning,
tears fall unbidden, as I wrap
layers of protection round
my heart, holding tight this tender,
final offering
of my cells to yours.
These are the first of many partings:
first day at school, first sleepover,
first time behind the wheel.
Trivial in themselves, but each a step
to that wrenching day when
child leaves home, a child no more.
But under all the tears such
joy, as you make your
eager steps across bridges
built solid with my love.
As you grow older, so do I.
Will I be ready to cross the
bridge from this
world’s journey to the next,
as I in turn part finally from you?