i found this lovely poem about lost children before i even knew i'd lose this Tummymuffin too. these last few days i've thought of the tiny body, before my body reclaimed it, as a dreaming kelp, serene and graceful, full of promise.
my love does stay, where now almost nothing is left.
by Sharon Olds
Most of us are never conceived.
Many of us are never born --
we live in a private ocean for hours,
weeks, with our extra or missing limbs,
or holding our poor second head,
growing from our chest, in our arms. And many of us,
sea-fruit on its stem, dreaming kelp
and whelk, are culled in our early months.
And some who are born live only for minutes,
others for two, or for three, summers,
or four, and when they go, everything
goes -- the earth, the firmament --
and love stays, where nothing is, and seeks.