Nearness

A weekend spent coaching at a foster youth summer camp while my body rejects another pregnancy.

I open my eyes in the dark,
my torso is performing surgery.
My breathing is uneven.
I close my eyes
and see a pregnant belly:
Toes pressing in and stretching skin,
the mother reaches for someone to feel it with her.

Something about a new place moves me too deeply;
“It’s all too much,” I whimper in the night.


The incline is short and steep
rubbing sleep from our eyes we rise
our feet slipping and gripping toward the peak to
catch a glimpse of the earth breathing in a new day.

I breathe in deeply too.

My heart rich with grief along with the rest of my body.
“How far are you, God?”

A stranger lets me cry into her neck,
“It’s all too much,” I heave. And
for the moment I am soothed.

I look forward and see
a mound reaching up from the earth.
Five unborn toes pressing in
and stretching skin
from underneath the ground.

A hand reaches to feel it.

How much closer can heaven get to earth?