Inhospitable

Each time the babies came

I knew they would be gone

by morning.

Bright as bulbs

turned out of beds,

hard and full

of promise.

Bodies

on the brink

of unfolding.

I could not hold them

and I could not hold them

long enough.

It was a sin to let them in.

I did not expect them to stay.

I did not expect their forgiveness

when I turned away.