Little sister—
someday if you see a small face,
eyes barely open,
peering for the first time into a new world
that seems all too bright—
kiss that little one on her soft forehead.
If you hear those first cries that tell the story of breath traveling a new course—
reach out tenderly
and look up with an aching joy that will echo forever.
If you sense the helplessness of a tiny form,
insufficient to wipe her eyes
or clean her quivering chin,
let feelings of mercy and compassion reach back through time
to resound and take their strength from the forgotten memories of one who once reached for you—
in the tender way that only she could offer.
If one day you feel the warmth of a head resting beneath your chin,
remember what you can never remember—
the touch of a hand,
the drop of a tear,
the sounds of silent praise.
Little sister—
then you will be the very image of love
that I have today seen in your mother.
9.17.93
