She first named her daughters when they lived
in her dolls, Jessica, Susanna, Isabella—kissing
each before sleep, holding them all to her chest
when she prayed sleepy prayers into her pillow.
Facing the wall one summer night, she relaxed her
grip in the lullaby of her breath. Dad snuck in and
pried those little ones from her protective curl then
distracted her with errands the following morning.
She sobbed when she discovered Mom sold off her
babies. And yet only five, with arms full of empty,
she knew even then they’d never come home again.
Though all spirits need mothers, some mothers lack
daughters and sleep to seek them from their dreams
where she and her three adventured the air by quilt
soaring over grass and across the moon’s wide eye.
While she grew, their doll bones remained small.
So she sent their memories back to Heaven, their
souls released to rest beside their Father, Creator.
She’s blessed now with three precious sons but still
mourns her unbirthed daughters—reaching for them
as lonely winds come breathing through her fingers.
