Weight of Breath

Her fingers curl tight—

a fragile claim on my own.

Soft down brushes my palm,

the hospital blanket folds

around a body smaller than my first hope.

Everything breaks loose then—the sharp edges

of fear, the dull ache of joy,

a tide rising quick and uneven.

The world split open in that quiet room,

and I stood there, naked in the flood,

a stranger tethered to every breath she took.