orphan

sometimes
you give birth to children
you cannot feed,
or hold in your arms -
who die before they are born,
who suckle at a breast that's dry,
who look away even as you yearn
for but a glance,
who are one mouth too many,
who you abandon in no man's land,
wrapped in the muslin of faith,
and the salt of a heart
hardened to keep you fragile,
where the arms of the world
engulf you with their kindness,
bringing you up somewhere
where you truly belong,
not in this womb
of miscarried desires
and dreams,
orphaned by a longing
that splits my gut,
between a heaven and earth
that must be joined
by sacrifice.