Three little hearts, and one aching mother.

Three little hearts…

gone.

The house still breathes,
but it no longer lives.

Tiny shoes wait.
Beds stay made.
The silence
knows your names.

I keep listening
for footsteps
that never come.

I hope you’re laughing.

My arms
remember you.

The house
remembers you.

The silence
does too.

Three little lives
missing from these walls,
and somehow
the air itself
feels too heavy to breathe.

I count the hours
until I can hold
my whole heart
again.