Whisper was the hushing of my babies at my breast
The longing to sooth with which I swaddles them.
Whisper was the New Mexico blue morning, dry and star-speckled
As I stretched my arms to God on an arid steppe.
Whisper was a Savior seeing one woman on her knees saying, “See me.”
This post is Day 26 of 31 Days of Poetry.
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