A package arrived in the mail today
dated December 31, 2011—
back when I was still pregnant
with colorful pictures of smiling infants
taped across the box’s surface
with my breath held and my chest pressing against my skeleton,
I grab a knife and cut along the box’s ridges—
breaking in half the largest picture
of a perfectly formed wide eyed infant.
with tears streaming down my face,
I remove a small onesie and lay it gently across the surface
of my empty womb
and watch the ink smear across the card that reads, “To Mama and Baby,”
and grasp a white blanket of feather softness
that should have held my child, come September.
Instead I wrap it around my shivering body and rock myself
in still emptiness
as I carry the weight
of losing the only thing I have ever wanted.