To a Daughter Moving Away by Martha Heyneman

It may be
I shall never see
you again, my daughter,

first born of the four souls
who one by one put on
their sweet bodies through me.

At this thought I see
the little bird you were, who lay
beside me on the gurney, tiny
hands waving the world away –

or so it seemed, who now
tower above me, a tall,
woman with grey in her hair.

You had to say goodby
to your own daughter
far more cruelly, when
cancer tore her out of
visibility.  Your new home

will bring you closer to the lake
whose every drop contains
an atom of her ashes. She  herself

resides again inside
both you and me.  We shall be
a nest of Russian dolls, she in you,
you in me.

Soon all three
will be
returned to water, earth, and


— from Juniper Volume 5, Issue 2