At Birth/ A poem by Mike O'Connell

At birth,
mother and child
are connected by the moon,
starlight,
and particles shift
to accommodate their love
and one more mouth to feed.
A cuddle here,
a gurgle there;
a small life cast away
from the certainty
of the womb.
Hold it up!
Show it to the moon!
Hide it from
the wild world!
Give it toys
and make it play.
Give it knowledge
so it will say,
“I am!”
Keep it warm
and cool,
and safe.

i,
I know why
the babies cry!
So the wolves will
know
which way to go....