This morning, like every morning,
his mother rises with her heart open.
Somehow, overnight, it has healed.
She is not like the paper doll
that, when wrinkled by callousness,
will not ever return to its former shape.
No, somehow the heart not only heals,
it grows bigger—some miracle she cannot
understand. She thinks back
to the day he was born, the day
the towers fell. As she went into labor,
she thought no, not today, no not today,
until some strange grace slipped into her
and spoke the new words,
of course today, of course today.
How beautifully, how forcefully
love insists on itself. How astonishing,
the daily miracle that leads us
again to each other.