Everyday I carry him inside me,

And beside me, like the robin

Who should have gone south,

But is dangerously late to leave,

Eating the berries from my tree.

I carry him to the sink in the morning,

And in the mirror, I see his crease

Above my nose, or the one wrinkle

By my right eye, under his hair.

I carry his burden of wanting to know–

Too much, at the risk of happiness,

Even expecting something bad

All the time, in the midst of good.

What excuse do I have, except being his daughter,

To carry such personal things?

And yet, to lay him down, to walk away

Into the lightness of my own shadow;

I do not want to leave his burden alone.

So, I will stay here and hope

The winter is not too hard,

And that the days, growing longer,

Are not ungenerous to one lost,

Scavenging forgotten berries.