There is a hole in my heart where my perfect child lives.

My heart is broken; that hole will never be filled.

My heart is thin like a balloon overfilled to fit two broken boys.

One son punched me, yesterday. He was calm.

One son said, through the toothbrush in his mouth, "You'll die before me. I know it."

Hitting?

Death?

Can I have a fucking minute?

My heart is stuttering because my son is missing and the door's unlocked.

My heart is thundering because my son kicked a girl in the face at swim class.

Terror?

Malice?

Not yet. Please. Not yet.

There is a hole in my heart where my perfect child lives.

My heart is broken. That hole will never be filled.

One son called out to a woman walker on the path, "Oh, hello there!"

One son growled, "I am king of the rebels."

The walker stopped, smiled, and said, "That looks like quite a castle, king of the rebels."

She looked at me with her bright eyes and sighed, nearly cried, "I miss..."

My kids started talking about a dragon. I couldn't hear her. My ears turn to my sons.

Don't tell me what you miss.

I already know it's going.

I already feel it going.

I take so many pictures.

There is a hole in my heart where my perfect child lives.

My heart is broken because that hole will never be filled.

When he was small enough to fit there, he couldn't speak or wonder out loud.

Now that he can speak, he wants to stretch.

They only get bigger, you know.

My heart is broken because I sold their smallness for their voices, sea witch that I am.

I didn't think they'd keep growing but I keep buying new shoes.

My heart skips a beat. 43 bucks?

My heart is thin because it had to stretch for two bigger broken boys.

And there's still this hole.

You're the meanest mom in the world, he yells.

It doesn't bother me at all.

Don't leave me, he whispers. Not even when you die.

I was calm.

I'll miss you, he says. Don't leave me.

I would haunt you the rest of your life,

if you needed me that long.

But you won't,

my heart.

Oh, my heart.

I take so many pictures.

My heart is rising dough. It needs air.

My boys, and air.

One son selected a gown for me to wear today. It was a cocktail dress. It's Wednesday.

One son gasped when I put it on.

My heart.

I can't bear it.

I can't stand up when he turns those shining eyes on me.

I just realized

my two broken boys fit just right

where they are -

in my heart

which is broken

too.