In epidural comfort I smiled, felt your brave struggle to join the living world. You burst strong, yelling, red faced, high scores, a healthy boy. Family members waiting to hold you. There was a full moon on the night of your funeral. The kind that makes knees buckle and eyes swim.
Peripheral vision turns black.
The moon was steady, perfectly round with craggly shadows, disgustingly the same as it has been every 28 days. Time moving forward when time should have stopped and wept over you. Your sister is three now. He was sleeping, breathing, he was warm across my lap and chest and inside my arms. I closed my eyes and imagined it was you.