When heroes fall, mothers die

First the body-transformations,
sickness of the morning
the palpable evidence of belly filling,
then the movement of life within
a young mother’s excitement at life-miracle,
the dola-duk and preparations for arrival
labour pains and birthing,
nurturing and loving,
hope and exasperation,
pride and fall and pride again,
but not once in the up-down of bringing-up
is death envisaged
for young are not supposed to pre-decease
and for these mothers
as they trace name on mirror-wall
nothing comes back
except reflection of finger
memories of cradling
and an absence
no womb can ever contain
or entertain
for child is child.
child is live-child
or not at all.

[Inspired by a photograph by Wathsala Wijayasinghe of mothers tracing at a war memorial the names of sons fallen in battle]

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