135.

mourning the losses of smiling twenty-something
women I have never met, and their babies
who were never born
I am struck
by how separate we are
and how much I miss everyone
counting back from twenty-something, all
the lovers I've collected
all the babies I could have not-had
all the women who would kill for just one
what a strange little ledger, and how
sorry I am for everything

throwing off the thought of skin on skin
like a hot blanket, like ants
icicle sweat breaking off my forehead
bolt-upright at 3 am
and should I be grateful?
and was that intimacy?
remembering these women with no daughters
what their nightmares must have been like

and how did it all go
from making little almost babies to waking up
five years and twenty-something beds later
and trying to string you all together
and make it make sense
and how separate we are
and how much I miss everyone

and how sorry I am
for everything