Because grief is as real as love, I mourn.
I mourn my babies
by saying the same things over and over,
by finding different ways to say these things again and again:
I hear them with each step I take—
I love them in the rising.
I miss them in the falling.
I want them in the touching down.
I feel them in my breath—
I love them at the inhale.
I miss them at the pause.
I want them at the exhale.
This is nothing new. My blood flows to this cadence:
I love them. break. I miss them. break. I want them. break.
I wear my grief–
I carry it around my neck and above my heart.
It adorns my eyes, my lips,
—It wears on me with each micro-nano-milli-moment that passes without them.