I tread on eggshells, says Ruby,
my life is the fearing of the heavy
steps, the trudging where others
fear not to tread; I see dangers
where some see none, where
the shadows become real, where
shades become demons, I am
the fearer of the bogeyman. I hear
laughter in the nightly dreams;
hear the sounds of baby’s cry,
the empty cot, the vacant spot
where baby lay, the moonlight
on the chilling room. I see my baby
as it used to be, its mouth around
my dug, its lips on the **** *******
the sound of that is my aching wound,
the lance in my side, the hammering
nails. Nine months I carried the
precious gem, my womb the dwelling
place of my dearest love, the moment
of the birth my deepest joy, the echoes
of my happiness ring in my mind when
I'm ****** and drawn by the depressing
nights, the lowest ebb of the sea of loss.
The smallest coffin carried they said,
the men in black, the coffin white,
crowned with roses, the smell of death
covered by blooms, the kisses of my
lips on the coffin’s lid, the sleeping
baby held within, the tiniest shroud
to hold her warm, to keep her safe
on her journey’s way. They sang hymns
to my deepest loss, their voices like
pinpricks to my ears, the sounds seeping
in my skin, eating at my grief. In my dreams
my baby’s safe and sound, in my dreaming
arms not underground, I hear the baby’s
words, the chuckling laugh, the open eyes,
the ******* mouth, the first steps across
the floor, the first day at school. I carry my
loss like a heavy cross, my baby forever in
my thoughts, the vacant spaces where baby
was seems to hold her ghostly scent, her
shadowed presence is my mind’s pretence,
my need for holds and kisses. Bring back
my baby; let me hold it once again, here
comes the night and the ever present pain.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
I tread on eggshells, says Ruby,
my life is the fearing of the heavy
steps, the trudging where others
fear not to tread; I see dangers
where some see none, where
the shadows become real, where
shades become demons, I am
the fearer of the bogeyman. I hear
laughter in the nightly dreams;
hear the sounds of baby’s cry,
the empty cot, the vacant spot
where baby lay, the moonlight
on the chilling room. I see my baby
as it used to be, its mouth around
my dug, its lips on the **** *******
the sound of that is my aching wound,
the lance in my side, the hammering
nails. Nine months I carried the
precious gem, my womb the dwelling
place of my dearest love, the moment
of the birth my deepest joy, the echoes
of my happiness ring in my mind when
I'm ****** and drawn by the depressing
nights, the lowest ebb of the sea of loss.
The smallest coffin carried they said,
the men in black, the coffin white,
crowned with roses, the smell of death
covered by blooms, the kisses of my
lips on the coffin’s lid, the sleeping
baby held within, the tiniest shroud
to hold her warm, to keep her safe
on her journey’s way. They sang hymns
to my deepest loss, their voices like
pinpricks to my ears, the sounds seeping
in my skin, eating at my grief. In my dreams
my baby’s safe and sound, in my dreaming
arms not underground, I hear the baby’s
words, the chuckling laugh, the open eyes,
the ******* mouth, the first steps across
the floor, the first day at school. I carry my
loss like a heavy cross, my baby forever in
my thoughts, the vacant spaces where baby
was seems to hold her ghostly scent, her
shadowed presence is my mind’s pretence,
my need for holds and kisses. Bring back
my baby; let me hold it once again, here
comes the night and the ever present pain.
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