I am a mother
five times over.
five times? you say, looking around my house
obviously populated by three —
three kids smiling from pictures on the walls–
three kids’ artwork proudly displayed–
three kids’ worth of beds and clothes and Legos and dollies and schoolbooks.
Five hearts have beaten under my own–
Five times little fingers and toes and formed
in the miracle of love and life.
But only three times have I held those tiny people in my arms.
Twice death has stolen those heartbeats away.
Twice I have been emptied from within.
Twice I have mourned a child never known apart from a heartbeat, a small flutter.
But death has no sting, for
It is swallowed up in victory–
I believe in hope and I believe in heaven and I believe that
In eternity I will be surrounded by