By Miruna Marin
It’s night two. As you sleep, your plump lips quiver with anticipation. A pump is suckling at my breast. It conjures drops of yellow liquid in a bottle. Butter, not milk, the nurses say, giving me both satisfaction and confusion, as if I were learning to make Gouda cheese, not grow a child. If only I could produce as much of it as I can tears. I feed it to you in a syringe, as one would a found kitten. I fear I am not yet your mother. In time, my colostrum will turn milky white. My fears, into purest love.
A wonderfully expressed piece about the challenges of early motherhood. The line: “If only I could produce as much of it as I can tears” says it all. And I love the positive ending.
Thank you, David!
I can feel the intensity of the moment. Beautiful piece!
I am so happy! Thank you, Yolanda!
Beautiful strong piece.
Thank you so much!
So achingly beautiful. Thank you for sharing!
I am glad you liked it, and thank you for reading!
I love this. It’s a story and a poem.
Yes, I am a poet at heart. Thank you!
Very well done, intimate and expressive, captures the wonder of those first days beautifully.
Thank you!
Very poignant. Generates tons of feeling in few words.
Thank you!
Nice work. (And you don’t see the word colostrum very often in short stories).
Thank you! It’s true, my writing group had trouble understanding it in previous versions of this story… I think I made it clearer now…