By the river my brother was named for,
my two sons jump from rock to rock,
big one loping in front of the small one.
I nearly lost them both:
one to a failing body,
the other to the grief that almost overwhelmed me.
They are my two miracles,
like the gift of the river, and the gift of the land.
The younger one jumps wildly and the rock catches him every time.
The older one tires, comes up beside me, puts arms around my waist.
Happiness spreads beneath my skin like a bruise.
Ginger Hanchey is a lecturer in the English department at Baylor University, where she specializes in Old English poetics. She is currently at work on her first poetry collection, Letters of a Long Name, and has poems published or forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, Rust + Moth, San Pedro River Review, Rock & Sling, and elsewhere.