Wendi Weill
My Children
They see us in the hall, laughing, talking quietly – hand on shoulder, hand on hand – and the girls say I love the boy more and I say no and I mean no. I say no but I know I love the boy fiercer but I know I love the boy sadder. All through my body, true. All with rip and cry. All through my body, true and yet the girls remain. Skin of skin. And as they grow, breast of breast. One moon showing one face, fractured by wax and wane and still one face. Blood of blood, the girls remain. The boy, as he grows, grows tall, turning and taller, turning, turning almost almost gone.
Wendi Weill spends her time teaching at Fairleigh Dickinson University, managing Down the Block, Inc., taking photographs and writing poems. Most recently, her poetry has been published in Chantarelle’s Notebook, as well as in the anthologies Her Mark and Gathered on the Mountain.
