Tuesday
She is ready.
Swollen with milk.
Full of flesh.
She is nourished as only a mother could provide to her child.
And now I must carry her to term.
And yet
she still yearns to be free.
She still wishes to fly away.
She wishes to break my heart.
Once more like those years ago.
She
will not break my heart
Again.
My child.
My baby.
I love you.
There is no mother in the world who would let their child fly before they can walk.
She must not fly.
I will make sure you will crawl.