In the moment when a person names a child,
Gail tells me, it is said a sacred wisdom
shines through the namer that connects the child’s
soul to their character, infusing the new being
with what they need for this life.
In these days of heartache and horror,
I think of my mother holding me wet in her arms
for the first time, when she whispered syllables
that charged me with joy—that sincere, love-drenched
moment out of which my whole life has bloomed.
Perhaps this is why I cry when Gail tells me
about the magic of that moment. It’s as if mom
gifted me an underground spring that flows
even when the land around it is dry. Even when
it doesn’t rain. For years. Still, that water flows.