Day 451

One of the infant twins
dies of cold.  A day later
the other follows.  Their mother,
whose womb was so full, sits
in the freezing tent
with empty arms.  They’d grown
so still, who moved
vibrantly for weeks inside her.
Their cries had become weaker
than they were the minute
they’d slipped into this world.
In the end they even stopped
sucking the trickles of milk
she offered them.  First one,
then the other.  She had imagined them
playing, walking, pulling off
each other’s shoes, giggling.
Now all she has left of them
are their names.  Now
she must put away their tiny shirts,
the cloths she swaddled them in.