i’ll say your name whenever I look at the oak tree we buried you under.
i’ll say your name because i never got to watch you run across the backyard with your sister.
i’ll say your name because saying your name makes you feel a little bit more here inside of my womb,
instead of there,
underneath
the earth.
i’ll say your name, my child.
my little baby
I never got to hold.
because when I did hold you–no.
you were already gone.
you were already gone.