hijos

Our oldest 

always awoke to the sound

of the bone saw 

brutal and abrupt

.

Our third, wakes

gently

with the grinding of coffee

beans, ethically sourced

.

Our second, 

he simply stopped 

waking

at

all

.

Leaving us, some would say,

prematurely

Weeks later, the promethea moths

so beloved from our youth

emerged, some would say, 

two seasons too late

Defiant anyway

brown wings dotted the horizon

Leaving us 

realizing 

some biological processes

cannot be measured with certainty

Leaving us

hopeful

.

And so, while our eldest grew

in a lab of calculated dismemberment

And our youngest grows

in swirls of embracing café

Our second, he emerges like the promethea–

here and there, unquantifiable