Grace Chia

What I would give 
to give you, child, 
this broken pearl I call earth 
this womb lacerated by 
a thousand wounds, a hundred swords,
a dozen thoughts tainted by the daily wars
of half-wits;   

this blackened crystal of crust
made milk by a soft cry of your unborn voice: Mama! 
Child, with this one word you
salvage this broken mass, give it meaning,
bring down arms, make it whole again;
and I remember once more why it is
that you are the one
who deliver me.