aayoungi am 2,202 miles
away
from where my twin sons
rest their ash blonde heads
at night
and while los angeles
has been
lovely
gracious to me
i would trade the vast pacific ocean
for the cobalt blue
of their eyes
( mama misses you, darling boys, I love you both…more than the sky)
i wouldn’t call it an altar
it’s less official
merely a shelf of irreplaceable things
two garnets
the twins’ birth stones
a statue sculpted
by a local artist named mckeown
of me
holding the boys
right after they were born
a silver piece from my brother
a two dollar bill from my grandfather
memaw’s watch and engagement ring
a rosary i bought when i was 10 from a thrift store because it spoke to me
and a small framed photograph
of my mother and father
taken after a late night of playing rook
with friends
him standing behind her
when they were in love
my father eyes are full of whiskey
my mother sober as a baptist judge
and you can tell by the way
she cradles his hands
around her waist
that she is tired
and keenly aware
all things are fleeting
it wasn’t until this day i noticed
they are posed
by the back door of our long ago little house
in the picture
as if they are leaving
your brother who came first was fine
pink and wailing
but you
had been born
dead and blue
25 minutes late to arrive
the medical team immediately
whisked you to the isolette
and began forcing air into your tiny lungs
i watched your chest fall and rise
managing to pull myself up on the birthing table
though numb from the chest down
screaming the name i cooed
a thousand times in the months before
while gently rubbing
my swollen belly’s left side
“Chandler breathe! Chandler breathe! Chandler breathe!”
and you did
the moment they placed gabriel beside you
your brother’s arm touched yours
as he flailed and cried
you came alive
you’re a fighter, son
because you had to scrap with the universe
for your life