Dead Baby
On a windless night
I feel the house shake
A child swirls rises
I smoke. Sit still.
Forget. Remember.
In this twenty-first century
The wind screams, rises
My mind screeches
Scattering thoughts, paper
Rocking foundations, shattering monuments.
Outside I gather windfalls in my night clothes
Amass them
Images scatter like dust.
I forget. Remember.
Rain pierces my eyes
Blinding me.
Ashes stick to my lips.
I taste them,
Bitter as the cud.
In vain I scurry.
Collecting remains
Holding the broken pieces together
Fruitlessly.
Lights flicker in high windows
Cats crawl under cars
Rain stings me awake.
Soaking, shivering
I go indoors.
Pick up paper
Write.
steven arthur
Mon 25th Mar 2019 11:23
Healing is a lifelong process my friend. I hope your surgery goes well, John.