Your small weight presses against my breast
You nuzzle me, make small contented sounds
A wisp of breath touches my skin like a blessing

The center of my being pulls
and remembers, remembers it all,
the gentle touch, the fear of breaking something
and yet, and yet

Some forty years divide me from that time
my womb was drawn and plucked
I nurtured my sonís new life

How can this fragile skeleton in its fur envelope
awake those memories of yearning and of youth?

Lari Smith