Had she not lain on that bed with a boy All those years ago, where would they be, she wondered. She and the child that wouldn't have been but was now No more. She would know nothing Of mothering. She would know nothing Of death. She would know nothing Of love. The three things she'd been given To remember. Wake me up, please, she said, When this life is over. Look at her—It's as if The windows of night have been sewn to her eyes.