Phantom Child

Rachel Rosenthal
There should be three children

Playing at my feet.

An older sister,

The apple of her brothers' eyes,

Wrestling on the floor

Or maybe

Rolling her teenage eyes

As they giggle and laugh.

This thought hangs over me

A giant storm cloud

Obscuring the simple pleasure of

Watching my boys play.

Would there be two boys

If she were here?

Would they be these boys

In this time

In this place?

'Come, play with us!'

They tug on my arm,

The youngest pulls on my pant leg.

Not understanding the silent

Unshed tears shining

In my eyes.

Yet sensing that Momma has slipped away

To another time and place

Where they aren't the

Center of my universe

As they should be.

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