Strangers hover over your swollen belly:
Was there a window? Were smiles real?
The clock ticks in your heart.
Your hands caress your abdomen,
already saying goodbye.
You give me to the air,
knowing enough to understand
the coming of winter on
this first day of spring.
(top: rappler.com; bottom: mjhsbnn.com)
Narble Furt Lives 
This poem reminds me of how “Holy Mother” is holy. I love my mother too.
I never knew my birth mother. My adoptive mother was a bright light in my life.
Sorry to hear that. And good to hear the cheerful part too! Hope you enjoy your life as much as you like with the “light”! 🙂
🙂 I am currently in the process of trying to figure out who my birth mother was.