I answer four, although
what I mean to say is five
but I don’t want to start that conversation
with a well-meaning stranger.
How can I explain that Sasha
is wet ashes dissolved on a Surrey heath?
She has passed through a door
and I can’t pick the lock.
She was; tiny blue feet
stained ink black,
footprints on snow white paper,
a pastor’s prayer, a minor key.
But I am still her mother.
I still birthed her.
She was still born