Two

Two sets of eyes

that won’t brighten up our lives

nor look up at the clouds

and make wishes on stars

Two sets of ears

that won’t hear my voice

nor their dad’s

and feel safe when we say, “I love you”

Two sets of lips

that won’t be nourished by my breast

nor smile up at me

and blow bubbles in a summer breeze

Two sets of arms

that won’t wrap around my neck

nor squeeze me tight

giving us both a sense of comfort

Two sets of hands

that won’t ever reach for mine

nor learn to write their names

and draw pictures of their dreams

Two sets of legs

that won’t jump, skip, and dance

nor stomp in puddles

and run downstairs Christmas morning

Two sets of feet

that will never kick my womb

nor learn to walk

and pitter patter across the kitchen floor

Two sets of voices

that won’t cry when they need me

nor giggle and laugh

and sing silly songs all day long

Two parents

that have empty arms

tear filled eyes

broken hearts

Two stories

that will forever be untold