Dear Little Ones

We were told we could have it all. We did everything right.

To My Daughter, Isabella, Who Never Existed

I still wonder who you might have been—

a laugh echoing through quiet rooms,

tiny shoes by the front door,

finger-painted suns hanging crooked on the fridge.

I wanted so much to be your mom

From as young as I can remember, I dreamt of you

You have no home in my belly, though I often rest my hands there,

Willing you to take up space within that hollow bowl of my pelvis.