an ordinary morning
— peaceful, calm —
she had no warning of what was to come
—
neither was i warned
immersed in the retelling
of cupid and psyche’s tragic romance was i
eleven, twelve at most
and so i came upon her
enfolded in his arms
sobbing like mad
then i knew only
that her heart had broken
mine was breaking, too
—
she was keening for her dead
for a long-awaited life
miscarried by her treacherous body
hopes for another child
— for her son —
dashed, a bloody mess of broken dreams
a death-knell of finality
—
when i remember all this
i do not know whether you were or were not
i only know that you are no more
and then i weep for you
little brother who might-have-been
