flirtatious stolen glances resting
in the churches' company
speaking with inhonest subtleties
and darting furtive eyes
forthright is incarnate as a fool
as evasiveness is deified
carefully intertwining the moves
the delicate dance continues
speak and rejoin to play the part
in the precise code of conduct
step once wrong to tear the sail
disband aspiration and expectation
the night is too important to take heed
abandoning the morning

i came to the forest
reckless and ravished
hopeless and poor
i came for redemption
but it was no more

the trees starkly glaring
crushed leaves in my wake
a trail of all that was wrong
and all that remained was
the softness of the poet's song

i heard the song
enter the mountain
emerging a flowing river
it calmed the waterfall
and made the rock to stir

it echoed the valley
and sung of the moon
it loved and it left me
back where I began
with renewed eyes to see

i have entered the song
and the song has entered me
i have heard the harmony shift
as it completly transformed me
and left the twice-edged gift

i hear the song still
the melody lingers on
i love the sweet sad tune
but I cannot escape
the song's tragic croon

i am singing now
reconstructing the notes
trying to rewrite the song
into a higher, nobler key
but my task will be lifelong

i am a fugitive
from its call
it is ******* my life
and if i cannot stop singing
all will be lost in the strife

the sun shone bright against the water
the waves rippled gently in a shallow wake
and the clouds floated lazily through the sky
as the geese landed gently on the lake

there was no past and no future
no dreams of what might come
only the beautiful and awesome reality
that today was not yet done

we talked of crushes and cooties
and all of the older far-off dreams
but distraction surrounded us with play
life was exactly all it seems

in those sunny days it took so little
to make our bonds and hold them strong
we played together in the muddied creek
and nothing could make that go wrong

they told us to enjoy our childhood
they told us it'd soon be gone
we absorbed ourselves in every moment
but couldn't understand our dawn

one day we stood and looked out
over all we'd done before
and realized with bittersweet astonishment
we had walked through childhood's door

as we waited on the threshold
tenatively awaiting our turn to leave
we knew what we had could never return
as surely as we knew we'd never grieve

this frizzle of excitement
daring--not daring--to hope
the flag feels the tug of the breeze
but can't unfurl
waiting.
to take in a breath, and not know
whether water or air awaits

You.
The other mommies of babies
fallen from life
banged mercilessly on the pavement
of our wombs
and broken.

You
you held your baby
lifeless
but you held him.
you held her.
You took pictures.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day
your Facebook status—
you beg us to remember.

I understand this.

These little souls no one knows.
No one connected to,
no one will remember.
No one cares.

But we feel the fluttering.
We feel it in our hearts,
that desperate gaping—
and in our bellies.

You want us to know: your baby.
You, mother.
Soul vanquished.
Soul rent in two.
The weeping, the never was,
the forever is.

And so you post pictures
of the baby
you held
dead.

But we—
we are the mothers who flushed our children into toilets.

We are the mothers who tried and tried to grasp
to hold
our baby
our dead baby.

But ours was too small.

Fishing through mountains of gore
pieces
was that my baby?
is this my baby?

In silence.  Alone.  Torn with pain,
solitude, anguish, bleeding.

Grasping at something—
this might have been the baby.
Flush it down.

How?

Is this what mothers do?

You held your baby.
You ***** a memorial, maybe even a burial.
Or ashes.

We are the mothers who hold out ****** hands
in silence
and babies lost somewhere in the septic system.

Should we take a picture?
Do you want to hear our story?
On this day of infant loss remembrance,
do you want to hear how we caught
the amniotic sac
and held it up to the light
hoping
and terrified.
What if we saw the body?
What could we do?
There are no hospital or nurses in our bathroom.
No cameras.
No burials.
Only blood, blood everywhere—
and the toilet.
And the sac, if we find it—
it might burst.
And then our baby might go out with the mopwater
or lie unnoticed on the ceiling.

Somehow we lost our baby.
We can't find it.

I wish I could have held my baby,
given it a name.
But I lost it.

Weep with me, too.

Bits of thread, left to lie;
all that remains, and I wonder why.
Pieces left of a bracelet made;
for my friend, who "goodbye" bade.
I think at last, our friendship's broke;
it has been a year since last we spoke.
Not sure what happened, I haven't got a clue;
what drove us apart, us friendly two.