to dwell on death is unhealthy, they say.
for the living to miss life is tragic.
and i understand what they mean.
here i hold a breathing baby,
new to the world, resting safely
in all of its promises.
and i celebrate that — i really do.
but sometimes that damn sky gets the better of me,
especially at night when the stars come out.
it matters little which child is in my arms,
she is still the last face i see
before i close my eyes to go to sleep.