You work so hard
as if the hours you spend
will make everything right.
Then it rains on your freshly poured concrete
and a sudden wind bends the trees you just planted
and the test is positive- you’re going to have a baby
and your cursing
can’t make anything right.
The grass grew though you swore it would never
The trees stood tall after the storm
The concrete dried
The child was born
and you figured out how to hold him.
And one day, I pray
You’ll figure out
He’s holding you.