A Bouquet of You
I collect their birth month flowers. One for every month our babies should have been born.
A year of grief. A due date missed for every season.
I wear the flowers on charms around my neck. I gather a bouquet on every due date. I plan a tattoo to inscribe them tangibly on my skin forever.
Endless death that even the beauty of flowers can’t erase.
I only hope that one day there will be a flower among them to symbolize a living, breathing child for us to mother.