YAWEH: to be

One.

I watched a man slide down a wall
once, in a movie. His fingers were bloody and torn
from dragging across the cement blocks;
his fingernails shuddered over the cracks. A scream
ripped from his throat
and he seized with dry sobs—
more of a clenching
than anything, really.

Two.
The nurse wrapped the boy
in a blue blanket
and handed him across the bed.
The mother had sweat on her face
and hair in her mouth. She wiped
it all off and her eyes glistened
as she held her child. I saw
her count his fingers
and his toes and sing.

Three.
I could hear her before I could see. A strong woman,
built to last with big hands and muscled arms.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
My baby.
My baby is coming home. She buried
her face in her fingers. He came
off the plane in a casket.