You posted him no news for sixteen terms,
then just a signed graduation notice.
The letter he wrote that week asked only,
Now that your books are closed, can boys come in?
At your wedding, you buried the woman
you thought you knew inside a stranger's name.
This is how you found yourself: thirty-three,
nursing a son. Soon there was another.
Your mind had already begun to walk.
But you were a mother. Those cribs held you.
Written by Camille Dungy
<----> SEND THIS POEM TO A FRIEND! <---->