Crimson streaks wash down her thighs
silver down her cheeks
Creating pillow puddles
She lost him at 12 weeks
He was so real to her
Though others never knew
And she moans in shattered sorrow
as her son makes his debut
There will not be a funeral
with family and friends
And many do not understand
a mothers love transcends
It matters not to her
that he never drew a breath
Her heart belonged to him
and she wildly rues his death
She wants to strike the ones who say
get over it, move on
Three long years of doctors
and her first wee son is gone
Do not tell her life begins
only when a child’s born
She carried him in womb and heart
and she’s earned the right to mourn
Patricia Gibson-Williams
January 3, 2005









7 old applause
