The mothers speak as if lack is a
missing tooth, a gap filled back in 
only if you are young enough. 
We consider the questions: What 
will we remember missing? Who 
climbs into the chrysalis, willing? 
I watch them gather their thoughts 
beneath skittish bats, speak into 
the growing dim of night. Gutted by 
their own private memories of loss, 
trying to imagine not having their 
sweet specific children while I 
try to understand having any, 
ushering others into this dying world. 
I have never wanted this life they 
hold sacred, toy-strewn backyard 
like a foreign country. But I want 
to hear them speak what it's like 
to cleave your self and then keep living,
work to shelter what is dearest to you 
then make it strong enough 
to leave you behind. 

Ann DeVilbiss (she/her) has work published or forthcoming in Columbia Journal, Gertrude, The Maine Review, PANK, Rust + Moth, and elsewhere. She has received support from the Kentucky Arts Council and lives and works in Louisville.