She would have been
your first friend
nearly your sister
almost a twin.
You illumined the winter solstice
our cycles of hope and despair,
and I cried with joy
and sorrow and longing.
One more intricate try for me
in the dead of winter –
she was there.
I gave no credence to miracles,
but I called her Mia,
Maria, Miryam, Guadalupe
in my gratitude.
I was so sick, and so hopeful.
My sister and I, pregnant
together. Our first children
together. We laughed, dreamed
puked, all of it, together.
I watched her immutable heartbeat
the day before I lost her.
She burned through me,
I caught her in my hand.
When you were born
she should have been
fattening inside of me,
growing wiser, longer, true,
and there was only emptiness.
I marvel at you.
How can you imagine
what a miracle you are?
I see her just behind you
sometimes, peering over
your shoulder, your phantom
cousin, my other heart.
________________________________________________________________________________
Lise is 55 years old (born in 1960) and became a mother to her daughter Mia in 1999 after years of infertility “treatment” and three cycles of IVF. She lost Mia the day after seeing her heartbeat for the first time, and has ached to hold her ever since. Lise is a certified nurse-midwife in Chicago. She has delivered over 800 babies and attended thousands of women through their pregnancies and births. She honors all women’s experiences of motherhood.
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