No one warned me the weight of a newborn
leaves a bittersweet ache behind.
Which might be why some mourning moms
buy reborn babies,
dolls so lifelike strangers coo,
unaware the faux cherub’s wearing
its dead sibling’s clothes.
How creepy, I thought. Until yesterday,
when a newborn in her TV mom’s arms
made my empty arms weep.
I Googled Reborn Babies which—
it turns out—are expensive, but easy to order:
Gender?
Length?
Weight?
Hair: Rooted mohair or synthetic? Color?
Eyes: Closed or open?
Body: Cloth or vinyl?
Reborns are “Safety certified for ages 3+”
which means they should be safe
for a 66-year-old woman
who tenderly hugs her adult children—
but still misses the weight of her babies.
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