Sacred

When I say the word sacred

Sacred

When I say the word sacred,

I mean the dry, chapped skin

of my mother’s hand that I held

as often as I could the last week

she was alive. I mean her smile

as soon as she saw me walking,

masked, into her hospital room

and said the two words that will

follow me to my own final days:

My baby. I mean the chills that

gather at the back of my neck

when I say those…