I did not know when I birthed my son
that he would take my heart with him.
At night, desperate for rest
half asleep, barely present
I’d attempt to nurse him.
The choice frustrated us both.
One night when he cried, I took
him downstairs to my rocker,
made tea, made us comfortable
and realized he was my life.
He grew. I watched my heart
learn to walk, read
navigate friendships, school
and grieve a first love anew.
He became a man
who with his spouse created
three children into
whom he placed his heart.
Together, powerless but present
remembering our own youth
we watch their spirits grow
as they navigate their lives.
We’re participant and spectator both
since we freed our hearts
to beat, break and love
inside our children.
Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement.
Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media.
She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.
View all posts by Cynthia M. Sheward
8 thoughts on “HEARTS”
Cindy, this is beautiful and so true. It touches each of us.
On Mon, May 11, 2020 at 9:54 AM A WELL-TRAVELED HEART wrote:
> Cynthia M. Sheward posted: ” I did not know when I birthed my son that he > would take my heart with him. At night, desperate for rest half asleep, > barely present I’d attempt to nurse him. The choice frustrated us both. > One night when he cried, I took him downstairs to my roc” >
A WELL TRAVELED HEART 
Cindy, this is beautiful and so true. It touches each of us.
On Mon, May 11, 2020 at 9:54 AM A WELL-TRAVELED HEART wrote:
> Cynthia M. Sheward posted: ” I did not know when I birthed my son that he > would take my heart with him. At night, desperate for rest half asleep, > barely present I’d attempt to nurse him. The choice frustrated us both. > One night when he cried, I took him downstairs to my roc” >
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All so true, and you’ve expressed this process so beautifully, Cynthia.
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Beautiful poem about your son. It made me cry and miss my son.
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This seemed very personal to me…I could write these very words about two daughters. I love your poetry, Cynthia.
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Thank you, Marti. I am so glad that you enjoy my poetry.
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Our children own our hearts forever.
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Thank you.
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Thank you, Sweetie.
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