Poetry in Motion

Dear Analin,

Daddy got a new job. It's all the way across the country, of course.

This is why you were cremated. We knew this move, or some other, was likely in our lives. This way, you get to come too. Your ashes, your hand and foot molds, your memory books, a lock of you hair.

What can't come are your other things.

Blankets.
Outfits.
Diaper bag.

I have them all. Not for long.

I found a family for your things.

They lost everything in a fire. Every thing. The people are safe. Including a baby girl and her twin brother.

This is so poetic on so many levels. Poetry can be damn painful.

We lost a girl.

Friends lost one of their twins the same year.

There are all different kind of tears. These tears are small, light, and hot enough to burn.

And we're moving on, all of us.

Poetry in motion.

Things lost in a fire, things given. Comfort found in our families. It's beautiful and I can't stop crying.

I love you so very much, Beautiful.

Mommy.