To My Son, Concerning Your Birth Mother
by Joanne Green, for Jacob

She was not a stranger when she first knew you.
She felt your first beginnings,
With awe and fear, and with the stirrings of love,
And she prayed, "Oh God, there must be another way."

She felt the first flutterings of your movement
And her heart swelled with a heavy love.
She pictured your face,
Your hands, your skin, your round little tummy,
And she prayed, "Oh God, there must be another way."

She dreamed of you as you grew inside her,
And, oh, how her love enveloped you.
But you would hunger, and feel the cold,
Your future would be dim, and her love alone
Would not be enough,
And she prayed, "Oh, God, there must be another way."

Some time in the months her answer came.
At first it was foreign to her,
How could she?  How would she?
But the flutter inside her helped her to feel
That somehow she could and she would,
For she knew in her heart it was the other way.

Far away in a distant place,
Others longed for that which nature had withheld.
They offered a future
Of love, food, warmth and happiness
And all that you needed to grow tall and strong and happy,
And she prayed, "Oh God, is this the other way?"

She didn't give you up, she gave you life,
And then, with fear and uncertainty,
Great sorrow, and great, unselfish love,
She placed you in the basket among the bullrushes,
And with loving sorrow as she watched you depart,
She cried, "Go with him, God.  Go with him on his way."

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