Fourteen years ago today, I gave birth to a perfect and beautiful son, David Carl.

My third son.

My heart’s desire.

When a child is born still, our state writes no birth certificate and signs no death certificate.

It is as if the child never existed.

But no worries.

The hospital gave me a stuffed bear to carry home.

As if the gaping emptiness of my heart could be so easily filled.

You can read the whole story here.

Fall

It happened again.
October.

I hate October—
acrid leaves, 
dying,
death.

My chest hurts
from breathing.

I try to forget.

But the accuracy 
and tenacity 
of the body 
to remember 
what the mind 
wishes to forget 
holds on.

I kept looking 
at the clock, 
wondering when 
it would end.

I remembered 
watching the clock 
as my body strained 
wondering when 
it would end—

knowing how it would end.
Wishing it would just end.
Trying to remember,
hoping to forget.

 But that’s not how it works;
I had to learn how to work 
the angles of grief.

Every October
I fall into myself
like cliff diving
without water,

and I measure my worth
in treasures of memory.

—cjpjordan

Wonder

I wonder if he would have eyes the color of the sea.

I wonder if he would devour books instead of read them.

I wonder if he would prefer running outdoors or playing legos indoors.

I wonder if he would like mushrooms and tomatoes and mashed potatoes.

I wonder if he would be a music lover and a story teller.

I wonder if Evan would be different with a sibling close in age.

I wonder....everything.

All I will ever do is wonder.

I never saw the color of his eyes or read him books or cooked him a meal or sang him to sleep or heard his voice.

Even so, David lives.

He lives in my memory as an unfulfilled dream--
a set of wonderings--
until I see him again one day.

He lives in my heart 
as the eternal hope 
of my Eternal Hope.

—cjpjordan