Still,

I bring my son to play dates 

where he plays 

with kids his age…

and their siblings. 

And their mothers 

look at me and wonder 

if he 

will ever be 

a brother. 

None of them want to know I tried 

multiple times, 

but they look at me.

My womb is empty; 

still 

I fill 

my bucket with blueberries. 

I fill 

my kettle with water. 

I fill 

my cup with tea.

The crib is empty 

already 

(still) 

but the toddler bed is filled 

like our days 

of nature walks 

and sidewalk chalk. 

Still, 

there are names that make me wonder 

what my boy would be like as a brother: 

Mack. Margo. Ransom. Stevie. 

Names I had chosen when I thought maybe 

another life could live inside me.

My womb is empty 

still. 

I fill 

my nights with bitter prayer. 

I fill 

my son’s days with love. 

I fill 

my cup with tea.