Delivery

This is the one place I feel powerful,
this selfish sharing. It's my choice.
Here, please
look here. It's me as a kid,
smiling, denim-jacketed and rolling in leaves,
blonde hair that will turn brown and the man
taking the picture, let me tell you,
he's a giant, a hero—he once lifted
the sailboat trailer off my brother after it had fallen
and pinned him, screaming for help and here he comes
so strong and calm he could've lifted five trailers, I swear,
anything for his grandson.

Yes, take it, please. Keep it.
My words to you, I want them
to keep you warm and safe
and reminded of the beauty.
There's so much beauty that I need
to share, to employ this power
to direct your eyes or cover them
because I can choose, this time, I can choose
and I have the power to change it for you
and still choose to give it all
away so freely,

as freely as the words
sometimes arrive, unwelcome,
handed down by friends
of an expecting mother
that lost the second heartbeat
and still has to deliver.
The cord, wrapped around twice.
No no no crying.