Tough Choices

I could feel her,

her little heart beating.

She could be glorious,

immovable,

warming,

if only she were meant to be.

Her life could bring joy.

Such pleasure, such pain.

Wrapping her little fingers

around my own

a shackle made of love and helplessness.

Too young.

I was sure we’d meet again someday,

when she was ready to try again.

I was sure she would forgive me,

for my indiscretions.

Timing isn’t everything,

but it means a lot

counted out on an abacus

moved by miniaturized fingers.

And when the tiny drumroll stopped,

and I was alone,

I waved goodbye, anticipating

our 20 toes,

our 20 fingers

that would someday

be ready to embrace each other.

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