magical thinking

“if she had just lived…”
and the magical thinking starts

when the chaos around me hits a fever pitch
and the wheels on the bus go round and round and will not stop
visions of my world with 2 boys and a girl
erupt in the living room
erecting an ugly brick wall between the gifts i have
and the one that was taken back

sometimes it feels like a very tall order
to stay focused on the good (the great)
and the temptation to entertain the what ifs
overtakes me

my husband knows when this has happened —
the glazed over shoulders
a mouth flatlined in wistful submission
a homesick gaze focused on something far off in the distance
but held close inside

it’s the unmistakable look of someone
who has allowed the fantasy of “what if”
to comfort with its familiar pain and longing

it usually does not last long,
but tonight it seems to be hanging around

and gratitude be damned,
i think i may just let myself nurse George to sleep
and continue dreaming of what might have been

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