April is cloudy days,
Cold rain seeping into shoes that are not waterproof
Not a cloud in the sky, bright sun baking my bare arms should have been a sign
How far along are you?
Only two more months until I can have my body back
This will be cold, he says
A squirt of jelly
Grey swimming images
Is that a hand?
No, a foot.
I breathe into the line moving across the monitor
Nothing, and no one
A ghost made flesh that so insistently tapped upon my ribcage
Eyes have dropped all the tears they can shed
Is there anything we can do for you?
Can you make my son not dead?
I could not look at his face
Could not memorize the features
And yet they’ve left and indelible impression
Seven years later
It should hurt less