Child of the mother!

Your first touch ,Your first clasp
is faintly random to my mind.
Infants can't make sense out of actions.
But some dot marks the heart.
And only grows.

My heart moves at the memory of
our fission and your first signature.
My physicality baffling you
and gratifying you simultaneously.

The way I must have been held.
With pride, with fear.
With everything and Love
With Love and everything.
Love being first unconditionally.

My memory deluded me for years
and as I touch my newborn's
bourgeoning eyelashes - for the first time.
And sugar-crystal fingers
with the fear of melting at my clutch
I feel you in my shoes - for the first time.
And for the first time
this mother in me , feels the
gratitude of a baby.

The child and the mother
they so go through
the mother and the child
and the child and the mother.