Invisible

In looking through me to see my children,

as if I were a picture window,

it is forgotten that my belly was

their first home.

Bulging,

beautiful,

the center of the universe.
Anticipation made flesh.

Childbirth changed everything,

as it should.

The focus shifted

to the living, breathing

embodiment of a family conceived.

Birthdays

anniversaries

divorce

more birthdays

graduation

and still more birthdays

The speed of life.

Upon her death,

as with the children she and I shared,

a part of me died,

too.

I live this every day.

There is no escaping.

Our respective anesthesias help

   computer games

   YouTube

   friends

   binge watching television

   a garden

   writing

Although we go days, weeks even,

without mention,

her death is our constant companion.

These days, I understand Horton’s Whos down in Whoville

We are here! We are here! We are here!

I am here,

the last mother standing.

I am here,

even when grief knocks me to my knees.

I am here;

You can call me Mrs. Cellophane.

~ Mk Michaels, 2014