Before We Were Born

There is no medal
given for the softness
of mothering.

No degree awarded
or measurement of the joy
 a woman gathers
as she gently offers her nipple
to the mouth of a child
and he attaches himself
hungrily to the milk
lifted from the center of her bones.

The body gleans
what it needs
from the warmth of skin
and the flow of the universe
from one soul to another
in the silent exchange
of these moments.

The soul is sustained
by the loving kindness
curled into the days and nights
of a lifetime of visiting
the bond made
before we were born.