The empty chair sets on stage
frightening me with its rage.
It asks words of a wise mage, which I'm not;
this blot I can't assuage.
If I dared, they said that night,
I'd soon be over this fright.
But I have seen the spotlight shining cold,
and told tales of its might.
Far be it from me to know
the intimate secrets low
which help them vanquish their foe of rank fear
to jeer at my shadow.

Me, myself, and I are having a
    party today
You weren't invited, but couldn't
    have come anyway
There'll be ice cream and cake
we labored all night it to make
We'll have a housefull
that won't break a single rule
But it'll be lonely for us three:
Myself, I and me.

the rain falls down and i close my eyes enraptured
warm bright rays are pleasant but i take what i can

not as if i can't remember yesterday's torturing release
the clouds my worst enemy intently forcing the ****

life would be an intriguing alternative to this mess
of stringy wet hair half-frozen to itself and my face

i have a minature tent to make camp upon my head
if i open it the tent will become a sail and steal me

the rain is beating, warm, friendly, almost-kind
assuring me it would melt the ice if it dared return

we exchange bracelets, initialed hearts engraved
but crashing thunder interrupts, no blessing gives

i look up and the dark is ripped, a slender white string
my new friend abandons me in terror to the frost

numbly i just -- stay -- i can no longer care
i am yesterday, and the sky is spilling sleet

every poet the world deems great
has written an elegant legacy
dedicated to himself
tallying all his wisdom
as he glorifies in his shame
he decidedly exalts his ego
and spreads the infamy of his name

so my muse, accept my invocation
as I write myself into epic proportion

collecting the vast library of my life
I eagerly fold back the cover
of the first volume in mint condition
but as I open it I learn astonishment
every page shines in unblemished white

in my fearsome excitement
I **** each book carelessly off the shelf
tearing pages and breaking spines
as the discarded books crash to the floor
and when it is completed all I have
is a pile of broken futures
and only a slender volume represents
the object of my reckless search

this book now my chief treasure
I sit down at my cluttered desk
to incline my ear and listen
and discern what material is worthy
for inclusion in my great work of art
but I am shocked to discover
that the pages hold insufficient promise
except the whisper of future possiblilities
which I have just hurled into dust

in the grand tradition of yesterday
I must finish in the same way I began

every poet who has written
a heroic tale of self
has exausted all his wonder
and reduced his life to metred lines
the good things are all gone
and all that remains is bleak and empty
when seen in the light of dawn

as childhood slips through our fingers
like sand from a broken hourglass
we tighten our grip and try to keep
all the remnants we can grasp
and as every piece slowly vanishes
we look up to see how others fare
judging superiority to establish order
if we could steal from our companions
we would not hesitate to add to our pile
but that has been neatly *******
so that we get nothing for our trouble
though we may lose a friend meanwhile
it would be nice if we could realise
the hourglass is not destroyed
and if we could only see it truly
then we would see that this obsession
with gaining what we cannot hold
is a troublesome mythology
because we are seeing upside-down
the glass of time may be running low
but only because eternity is filling up
and as time trickles away wisdom proves
the things lost are nothing
compared to the things gained

mom ought to be
home soon
and the door will creak open, like
a shot of red lightening soda pop
pop pop
this web is well-spun, isn't it?
aint it. isn't. aint. apostrophes stuck
to the ends of our tongues like
candy from the local metaphor shop, where
the commas and the poems get
together
to rhyme about their punctuated lives.

sometimes i just--shut--my eyes
think of what could be
a brief instant of mixing--reality--
fantasy--
wings melting i crash--into the sand
the waves washing wet--over me

the sun is too--hot--hot hot
i can carry the fire--up
but i cannot put it out
in all my ice i cannot **** the sun
so i am building a castle--a sandcastle
with parapets and a gated moat--

i knock it down with a crash
destruction was my primer-book
cynicism my blue-backed speller
so i lock myself up--in my room
pretending to be named emily
in my flawless white dress

the old nickname e.d. is transformed
until i remember--myself--
i am not a doll
and i--am not--afraid
the world can be--irrelevant
i will not abandon life

****** half-hatched into reality--
lost in a foreign land unknown
a sojourner who has lost--the song
peregrine with a misplaced home
the repressed truth will arise--
i will find the beginning--in the end

i fly back up--fire in my pocket--
bid cheerful farewell to the sun
good day to the beach-grains
rebuilding the--castle--
it is only--sand--
and i let it stand

life is reality--what took so long
and life that is really happening
is better than supremacy unlived
and i get lost--in omniscience
looking--skyward--realizing
i am a--grain--of sand

the beast in me wants to romp
and enrage the beast in you
tonight

you see my beast is locked up
in chains, a fearful cell--
locked tight

but when yours calls mine
it answers with unabashed
delight

"set me free," it begs
and the shadows grow
with fright

with myself and my desire
my deadly determination that I—I
am right

then your pet answers me and
out they fly—sparks and gunpowder
ignite

the beasts in lethal fury
grievances, protests, objections
recite

unfettered, unchained, and uncontrolled
they spin, they soar, they destroy
they fight

we lock away our agency
our wisdom—our love
from sight

our pets are eating us, my dear!
we look at each other and mourn,
contrite

too late.  the damaged flesh
has uncovered our bones and shown us
each bite

there is no return.
but perhaps if we wrestle,
unite?

with every power we strive:
we send those animals back into
the night

when the morning breaks at last
have we gained
insight?

are we richer than before?
do we know any more with
hindsight?

is it worth the blood we bore
as our beasts fought before
daylight?

silence. there is no good
from letting the beast pretend to be
a knight

we have not won this day;
the events do nothing but
indict

we must build cages that hold our beasts
that constrain this ugly temper
more tight

and keep our hands off the latches
because love is always better
than spite

he stares down the empty bottle
    graceful brown glass shattering his pride
swarthy foam defying his ambition
    a reluctant sigh escapes
as he comes to the slow realization
    in a moment of despair
he cannot write a poem
    about an empty root beer bottle

i have a garden of yesterdays
with things pushing through the dirt to bloom
and in my house of tomorrows
is a ***** and a *** and a wheelbarrow
i guess today is the place
where the past and future meet
and i gotta go back to the garden
to dig up dinner for today
maybe it is brussel sprouts
maybe it is sweet potatoes
or peaches, even
i forget some of what i planted
but i will find out soon
when i harvest yesterday

sweet dreams, close your eyes
be still for it’s late at night
and the dark has come to take you away

sweet dreams, try to understand
all the pleasures and the pains
that compose this thing called day

sweet dreams, sail tonight
let your sail be caught by dreams’ sweet light
as silent and still you lay

on this ocean you will see
the storms are many on this sea
and while you’ll find you love to roam
you’ve got to remember to come back home

sweet dreams, sweet dreams
when you awake wander back to here
dreams are sweet but life’s more dear

dream sweet

Goodnight sweetheart
My mother whispers softly
Ride to Dreamland tonight
Mommy, will you come too?
I'll bring a double-saddle
And come by your window
Mounted on Midnight,
My jet-black rocking horse
Or you can ride your own
I mumble as I fall asleep
Midnight knocks on my window
I go out and hop on for a ride
And off we fly to Dreamland
We stay until he says we must return
As we head for the horizon
I fall asleep once again
To wake up in my bed
And continue my other life
Until the next night
When Midnight rides again

once she could think well; the world catered to her call
no monsters hid under piles of newspaper over warm grates
the street was a black river, not an interruption of being
strangers sold tainted chocolates; the apocalypse was being lost
but she revolted to the wrong road and saw a flash of color
as the landscape came with thoughtless clarity
alice could never resurrect a deadened neverland
true utopia was reclaimed and found to be in reverse
the rosy view of a negative came in three-by-five prints
although she discarded knowledge and journeyed to kansas
her eyes could not forget the lure of exquisite babylon

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.

it is supposed to be better
to have a life unlived
than to sit in dark corners
and commiserate grimly

a name engraved in soft grey rock
immortalizing the remaining award
the door is shut, the key is gone
the thing inside, safely forever stored
once a grand and favorite treasure
it outgrew its use once adored
only a mistaken sense of memory
makes it the stone's favored ward
it is nothing but misplaced hope
that one day it will be restored
but it is simply barren ground
that is lost without its lord

spinning here in silence forever
wondering at the vastness of the sea
and thinking that if only each minute
would bring back tomorrow to me
living in the present reluctantly
for the future will never be now
and yesterday will never change
wanting the splinter of the soon
to fuse life and meaning for today
reaching and grasping and hoping
catching the wind in my fist
I found it only shadow and murk
the light rests unbendingly on this hour
and only in this hour can I find the way

It's a good life she's got going--
there's her dude and her dress
matching shoes and a patined purse
and nothing to worry about

the stereo never stops rocking
she never tires of what it plays
the clothes in her closet are innumerable
the styles guaranteed never to change

her shirts are never wrinkled
her eyes never shine with tears
her hair in perfect plastered permanence
her expression is always the same

a timeless smile reveals perfect teeth
a sparkle carefully painted in each eye
and it is always this way
and she swears it'll never change

life happens and she strives with the flow
eternally up-to-date the miss of all
she's the perfect dream within reality:
she's the cut-out paper doll

please kind sirs
    i assure you i meant no harm
-can't you see the poor girl is telling the truth-
revered jury i apologise
    i didn't realise my sin was so great
-really, gentlemen, it's a first offense-
i take all the blame
    i was where i should not have been
-a girl's got to make a living-
weaving my webs of destruction
    i accept the punishment
-please, have mercy-
execute me if you must
    but wouldn't it be easier
-hear her plea-
to simply be rid of me
    show me the door i'll gladly leave
-i beseech you on her behalf-
please, miss muffet
    was quite mistaken
-hear, hear, the witness is tainted-
an attempt at friendship
    has thrown me on the mercy of the court
-save the poor spider-

I know we can't pretend that all that is never happened
but this twisting is too -- I might dissolve into memory
that should be all right with me but it's not
my life is a constant state of euphoric pandora
secured in a set of paradoxical chinese handcuffs
and the harder I pull away the nearer I become
they say when you're sinking to look for the light
but this sand looks mysteriously like the noonday sun
I've lost every sense of gravity and direction
swimming in my three-dimensional model of earth
in the movies this is where I'd get the inner tube
but this isn't the titanic and this water isn't cold
do I want to leave this halfway trip to comfort
this warm floating feeling is more than reminiscent
and my head is far too full of foolish talk and chatter
I know air somersaults are better but it's safer here
it's not my comfort zone but I'm still content
then I brush the rough ocean floor softly
imagining faintest trails of light in my wake
and I can't forget the breath of freshness
that I'll never find if I stay where I am

if you dare to dream
who knows what you’ll find
you might find you’ve got ambition
something other than an ax to grind
and if this world is too eager and fair
and can’t get you out of its mind
then lay some on with powerful fruition
and decide if you’re the hurting kind

I only pass a moment here
a stitch in the pattern of time
I only contribute a measure
to the poem one small rhyme

although at times I seem
content with this world's view
I await something higher
I'm only passing through

I am waiting for the day
I can entirely cease to roam
and coming to my family find
I have finally come home

he breathed a restless moment
and lost all worthy intent
the weary smile finally spent
he raised the voice of dissent

I tred a path too few have trod
I walk a narrow way, most favor the broad
What I do brings no fortune or fame
sometimes it brings a smile, oft only shame
Occasionally a friend will walk along with me
but rarely enough do they see what I see
So on this long road, I oft feel alone
I stop and think, and then I groan
for I tred a path too few have trod
I walk a narrow way, most favor the broad.

sittin' in the bus station
waiting for number thirty one
watching the people around me
the woman with the little boy
and the old one looking lost
buses come and buses go
but the one I want never comes

I walk outside to stand on the sidewalk
waiting for number thirty one
ask the people where it is
finally they say it disappeared
somewhere in the north of the city
it could be here any moment
but I watch and it never comes

sitting on the bench in worry
waiting for number thirty one
to give me its precious cargo
they told me it would be here an hour ago
they tell me there's nothing they can do
they'll say there's no more information
and I watch for the bus that never comes

well I've been here too many minutes
waiting for number thirty one
my feet are hurting from standing so long
and I'm wondering if the bus is tired too
is the radio broken or does the driver care
I'm standing in chilling anticipation
watching for the bus that never comes

buses come and buses go
but I'm waiting for a special one
although with each new arrival I wonder
what if I'm looking for the wrong number
this bus or that bus could be my bus
and I could be here forever
waiting for a bus that never comes

lost in the old cliché
for every step forward
falling two steps back
it's life in full reverse
when I try to speed ahead

I repeat every single word
but lack even the least of these
the utter emptiness within
isn't some delusion or slight
I'm not sure I want more tonight

by grace you are all
I said I knew the truth
but this breath you gave me
to ever sing your praises
grows short through my misuse

I was born audacious
my life in pursuit of change
it's all from your perfection
but if in you I find completion
can I still call myself complete

where's the line divisive
marking my individuality
if I lose myself in you
will I ever again find me
isn't it illusive fundamentally

lose me and keep me
the paradoxes of truth
bound by my four dimensions
and I know you are free
but it is I who cannot see

standing here in holy hope
trusting what I cannot believe
faith alone and simple words
to sum the things I can't conceive
lying far beyond my reach

it's you I say so confidently
but I know not what I speak
if I begged you like solomon
would I become any wiser
if you showed me what I've seen

looking out my bedroom window
i see a stretch of endless black
called a street in normal life
this simplistic title fails for me
because it is a metaphor
carelessly constructed
of half-breathed truths
that echo something larger
i am the car that goes 55
through this lazy neighborhood
seeing what is on the side
but never quite deciding to slow
not that i could stop anyway
that is okay i gladly fly away
because even though i dread
the fact that i will never see
this beautiful street again
i journey to a destination
fairer than the one that is here
wave to me as i go by
weep for the neglect of youth
but never persuade me for a moment
that there is anything worth
stopping for except the end

twirling landscapes on my fingertips
rummaging the depths of the sky
the shattered world at a glance
broken pieces failing to mend
and in the yelled whispers waiting
the syllables of frozen fear
echo the heartbeat of silence

the compass casually announces its disturbance
as if it weren't obvious by the needle of spinning red
guess I should've left the magnet alone
but I'm famous for finding every attraction irresistible
and it seemed so very near the road

swirling colors in my hand
sweet chocolate turns into dirt
believing in the impossible
but living in the now
I want a cutting scream
ripping through this mistiness
to break against the night

the roadsigns are all covered by dark green ivy
and the path is overgrown with tall brown weeds
I conclude I'm traveling in the wrong direction
but maybe only few find their way out here
and perhaps I'm supposed to continue on

maybe
if I stayed here
maybe
I'd be all right but
maybe
it'd be a dull life

little boy wanders through the cold dead town
he doesn't know how love ever let him down
like leaves in the wind we all blow away
and little boys wake up to another empty day
little girl in blue jeans and her cowboy hat
doesn't know much but knows where she's at
leans over and brags that her daddy's in jail
says she sends him letters in the US mail
old man on the curb got nothing to lose
runs his mouth a lot but the act's all a ruse
he's been through life he knew the beat
burnt it all to gain a streetside seat
momma on the corner's fourteen years old
the high point of her story's already been told
she had her dreams and her talent but that's all gone
the sun set on her life before she had her dawn
they call it "people" and show the faces on TV
name it culture and a new way for men to see
but not in the reflection of the mournful eyes
there's no joy in the echoes of their sighs

we grasp at every slender thread
    that dares to promise immortality
if the old man was like us, he would be
    the victim of our murderous duplexity
certain that an earlier yesterday holds
    the wonder of what we seek
yet when that day was here, it was scorned
    in favor of a newer, later week
we embodied the desires of today
    recklessly ignoring the tick-tock
but now, too late, we realize
    the most merciless of all is the clock

Three keys carefully tapped out
remove doubt and make it clear—
this a joke, but that a frown.
Tiny clown, bring drear or cheer.

For some, two keys shall suffice;
but to be nice, make a nose—
'tis just a dash more trouble,
but hath double the fair pose.

Of course, we can't forget one:
for fun, the twice-dotted Ü
(although too tall and too thin)
is a good grin, fresh and new.

black and white with grey about the edges
my honest words just stopped ringing true
and with all the wandering in specific directions
this haphazard life always comes back to you

when truth falls from unclean lips of stone
and the ground rebels at the acid stain
the flowers decide to reluctantly grow
and you wash them in redeeming rain

speaking the language of overflow
sound piled up in scattered heaps
the needle lost herself in the last straw
but this memory of light she keeps

the water is clean and my hands are not
yet I'm supposed to shine in the dark
four thousand tongues are still too short
and you alone can make your mark

The soft breeze picks up my hair then drops it
as dark clouds come rolling through the sky.
Rippled in gray, the world becomes less lit
as though the heavens above thought to cry.
But don't weep for us now, it's beautiful.
There is nothing so glorious as dust!
The smile on my face is not dutiful—
this is joy as the wind begins to gust!
Something inside me loves the dissonance:
the broken sun runs away, reflecting
the desperate gasping for deliverance.
A return to the day we're expecting.
   The rain, the wind, all mutely testify
   to each bright day suddenly gone awry.

in the cold of night the winter waits
as the autumn leaves fall unheard
their crushed brown skin lines the path
while the icy wind reaches my face
the road stretches out for miles ahead
running to the horizon and beyond
and though there is neither twist nor turn
it travels over many strange and lonely hills
and slants into many darkened valleys
before it disappears in its mysterious end
I see the finish in its blaze of brightness
an image of something clear but yet unseen
and when I look at the road that lies between
it looks cold and dark and a little empty
and everything out of my so limited grasp
is shrouded in the deeply swirling fog ahead
and all I have is the light shining before me
the promise that darkness will never fall
and the hope that this path is not all forever
for a moment I ponder the truth behind this journey
and see what an adventure it could be
how much more can a blind man learn of reality
than we whose eyes are clouded by what we see
and stepping forward I take the dare in silence
as the world behind me fades to a dull grey
and the light so bright grows brighter still
as with every step it grows nearer to me

on the shore the water rises
as it swirls--swirls to cover my feet
I dig my toes into the softened sand
and consider the properties of land--
reaching down--I hold the grains in my hand
wondering at this pliant thing
that holds me here against gravity's wishes--
and what falling through would--feel--like

in the silence someone hears the singing
the mismatched hymn that time begot
their ears attune to the voiceless ringing
tying the world into a careless knot

in the softness you can hear it
the echo of the ages rolling past
stirring within a fire yet unlit
straining from its birth to last

in that moment all is peaceful
the strains of the day begin to fade
but all tranquility can be deceitful
every ounce cuts like a weighted blade

in the time that divides all time
earth looks long and hard for her answer
but all she finds is written in rhyme
and with this music she is no dancer

in the silence someone hears the singing
the mismatched tune that time forgot
they take some bells to set them ringing
being dissatisfied with their unearned lot

an instant
    frozen in the annals of time
nature is
    paused as it watches in silence
in awe
    of the power nearly unleashed
fastest
    as the lightspeed barrier breaks
an action
    that makes the sun look reduced
suddenly
    as the entirety of all is transformed
an atom
    appears and multiplies matter
blindingly
    as a voice speaks and all exists

vague and undefined
do you believe my irreverent lies
this pretense of mine
capable but far removed
I know it all but I don't understand
knowledge does not wisdom find
I can hop on one foot with ease
but I can't stand on these two feet
so it's all elbows and knees
spinning tumbling crying mumbling
squinting to keep the sunlight out
while looking for it with my whole heart

wearing your size dress
I took a walk near the moon
I pretended I knew
why everything ended so soon
and the world rusted away
like the wind in my hair
it was another language, then
but we didn't really care
worship the elaborate
and sober the beauty
behind our lucious dreams
lie our delicate screams
and the woman at the window
has got something to say
about fragments of the memories
that never got us through the day

True it is a lonely road
my feet dance upon
But tell me how can I be alone
when there's Someone to lean on?
Someone waiting, watching me,
guiding me every toward the goal -
tis He who keeps me company,
the Savior of my soul.

I turn off the light
and dash madly into bed
as I pull the covers
high over my head
I observe a moment
of listening silence
before I peek out
in deathly suspense
to make sure every blanket
is away from the floor
once my task is finished
I don't worry any more
because I know
what lives underneath
and I'm quite alright
with him having big teeth
and being very hungry
big and strong
for he told me once
that we can get along
as long as I am good
never dangling an arm
or foot down to the floor
I have no cause for alarm
and I can sleep safely
because my enemy
is also my protector
he eats all, you see
and makes no exception
for you, or for me

you alone have been the witness
         to every single fall
little things, big horrid things
         my life's a long tale of them all
the only persistent plot is you
         your presence alone never ceased
this amazing grace abounds the most
         whenever I deserve the least
I'm still standing here in flawedness
         despite acquaintance with truth aflame
for your words and my eager attempts
         I remain very much the same
I've mercy encounters with the almighty
         but the effect is most understated
your self demands my life and thought
         but I can't even qualify as dedicated
you promise to give me every desire
         to plant that seed deep into my heart
I, the child repentant, again beg my only plea:
         complete the work you didn't hesitate to start
the vows you made are never broken
         your plans are nothing but purest perfection
and for this tonight I bring myself
         a sacrifice laced with grace-given affection
to shudder at your power and yet pray
         for this promised grace to be fulfilled
mold me, shake me, hold my heart close --
         take the darkness and have it killed
and in the shadow of your omnipotent hand
         keep this your wayward child
make my life to sing your glory
         until to you I'm reconciled

too long I have walked
down this dusty road
mindful of the journey
mindful of the load

too often I have thought
that skills and respect
were useful things to keep
and knowledge or intellect

and I have tried to gather
all the wisdom I could find
striving to be smarter and keener
learning how to be sensitive and kind

many good and noble things
I have thought or at least tried
even struggling to learn
how to listen and confide

but these things alone are weak and empty
however good they might do
for my call is vastly higher
and my wisdom is only you

what matter is it if the world hates me
if I never measure equal to their standard
what matters of expectations or praise
or if all I am and all I think is slandered

be all my vision, be ruler of my heart
you are my wisdom, my word, whatever befall
be all my inheritance and all that I need
my treasure, my best thought, the ruler of all

the road is yet long and I am yet young
and if ever I forget that you're the only one
bring me back and hold me close
and remind me why this race I run

the sound stood up and looked at me
I stared in silenced astonishment
he breathed and I heard an echo
the stars drawn with a fallen leaf
I opened my mouth to reply
but the sound was nowhere to be seen

I woke up to the shining sun
ignorant of the day to come
who knew a knife's power
to make perfection cower?

innocence and I fight and lose
I must not get to choose
not that I could wish this day
or the truth so far away

still it's here without rescue
I know I'm going to lose you
but it doesn't hurt to say
the new today is my cliché

One day I shall leave this earth
and mourn not a whit its loss,
for though this world is fair indeed
on the far shore is a land more glorious.

I look with pleasure to that day
and beg it come without further delay,
yet I live here, this moment, this hour
where time is quick and swiftly gone.

As the Father has not yet seen fit
to call me to my home on high,
I travel this terrestrial terrain
working whilst I wait.

May life turn its path
    to greet you on your way
May the sun shine brightly
    on you after this dark day
May the things you touch
    spring up and grow anew
May your feet tread the ground
    bathed by the morning dew
May your road be pleasant
    and meet again with mine
May your heart be true
    to things unbound by time

how many years can it wait before we forget
how long can we travel through this time
is this my burden to bear in solitude
does your heart have this along with mine

did I scare you as much as you scared me
or was the awkwardness limited to one
where are we now if we try to compare
the notes of all we had seen and done

how were you the hesitant party
when I was impulsive and carefree
but we were never the daring kind
if we opened our eyes we might see

time goes and comes and drains
a portrait of childhood cliché
true in every essential but lacking
the frozen moment of that single day

and after that time I knew you
stolen moments in brighter shade
the sun came out and we were left
with these new dreams we'd made

in this world I never included you
and in yours I've had no residence
this somber finale delicately wrought
and deliberately unregretted since

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.