I was there when a doctor had to tell a couple that their baby was dead.

He was very gentle.

He took the ultrasound

and put it on the woman's belly, because the baby was still in there.

And showed the husband and his wife their baby's heart.

That it ws not beating.

It was so quiet.

The room was so quiet.

And then the husband said, it isn't beating.

And the doctor said, No.

And the mother said, what can we do.

And the tears just silently going down my neck.

And the father asked, can we start it again?

And the doctor said, I'm sorry.

And the wife said, Oh, Honey...

Our little baby...

And he said I know.

Here is a cup with tea and smiles.
Here is a meal, hot and fresh.
Here are my hands with skills to help.
Here are my eyes with truth to see.
Here is my heart with love for love for love for
reaching out to you.

Steam rising from hot cotton
Memories stirring
Turning a collar and smoothing under buttons,
first the inside, the plackets
then the shoulders, cuffs and sleeves.
Who knew the ironing of a shirt
could be such a minuet of parts
and caring
and thoughts?
The flesh these folds would clothe, the
hunching of the shoulders, the
reaching out of hands from
clean
crisp
cuffs.
My mother learned from my father learned from his mother
and I to you
bring hot fresh cotton
my love.

Do you like it when I tell you my deepest thoughts?
That I fling them into cyberspace;
That I so yearn to be exposed
Stripped and shamed
I will tell you whence they came?

Do you like it when I share with you my darkest dreams?
That I rummage through them carefully,
That I so yearn to be known
Deep and sweet
I will hold them up for you to see.

Do you like it when I call to you, expecting no response?
Knowing you are silently aware.
Not hearing any whispers
In my heart,
Nor pretending on your part.

I am grateful
For your cruelty.
It you were kinder
I would be utterly lost.

when thought sleeps deeply in the darknesses of the soul
and the mind ticks steadily on
the body's at rest
and sleep comes sweetly
then, that is peace

but when memories of golden days past
stir themselves in the cold brightness
a certain tightness forms in the darkness
travels to the throat
and if tears cant come to wash it away
it sticks
and that is pain

I know my way out of this prison
but keep pecking at the trigger
for the food
that will never come again.

the sweetness of lust tinged with hope of love
the hope of being known
hope of being held in safety
the yearning to have it be real

I know the way out of this prison
but keep looking backwards
for the hands
that are closed on empty air

the sweetness of hands reaching out in yearning
aching with a promise
burning in their own dark loneliness
the hope that this might be real

I know this way out of my prison
know if I keep on walking
the walls will fade into mist
the light and air clean on my face

the sweetness of honesty and life
reclaiming what they've nurtured
my heart is safe in my own hands
and I hold today, which is real