My son came upon me
mopping blood from my thighs
on the first day of my period.
He began to cry
and with red hands
I desperately knelt to comfort him 
Mama! What’s wrong? You’re hurt!
No, baby, I’m fine.
But, you’re bleeding! Why?
I was silent, still rocking him.
How to explain?
I didn’t make life this month, honey.
He put his clean hand on my cheek
and smiled.
You made mine, Mama.