Somewhere out there is a little girl
with hair and eyes like mine.
She belongs to someone else now
and that’s OK, but
I dream about her.
A sibling to my real son,
she loves notebooks, pens, and paper,
her room is filled with books,
and her belly with bread
that we’ve learned to bake together.
She begs me to brush her hair at night.
I know what she looks like and
I can smell her
Barbie, vanilla frosting, and lip gloss.
I wonder if she would have made me a real mother.
My son has a real dad,
a parent I can’t compete with.
My boys leave me out.
I feel like my little girl would have held my hand tightly
and would have thought I was the most amazing mom ever.
Kelly, Marisa, Sophie
she’s had many names
but always the same soul
that has found her way to this earth and ended up in the arms of another
lucky, more deserving mother.