Their eyes speak first, these babies of my babies.
Lips, cheeks, sweet smell.
By the way, my mother is losing her mind, I whisper.
Holding them brings yesterday and tomorrow,
and I struggle to swallow.
I lean forward to kiss a cheek that was a son's, remembering
a perfect moment in an imperfect life.
Their great-grandmother sits quietly, and I must remind her of their names. Again.
Susan Carter Morgan’s poems and prose have appeared in Haunted Waters Press, Brevity Poetry Review, Curio Poetry, and Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. A grandmother, she lives in Virginia with her spouse and golden retriever, Beau. She also leads writing workshops at her Downtown Writing Studio. Please visit her website for more information.
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