I cannot think of
these two new lives
without thinking of you
—the pleats in their brows,
the marrow in their bones
yours too.You’re watching the
military channel,
ankle crossed over knee,
in your worn robe, the color
of dreams and lost sleep.
I feign interest
to share more than our blood.
Though yours was tainted,
you put razors up high,
never let us drink after you,
ever vigilant
of segregating your disease.

I did not know the weight
of your burdens—
hairline fissures in your bones,
a map to where this story goes—
until you were gone.
Ironic how welcoming
these two new lives
could rend the wound of losing you.
But as these girls grow,
I will keep resetting the bone,
this fracture that healed awry.