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Postpartum
I was thinking of writing a love poem
as usual
driving to get my Tim Horton’s
the words on the edge of my mind
about the invisible strings
in the sky connecting us
then I read about the three young angels
dead in Delhi, found one after the other
wrapped in postpartum love
and all the memories come back
of Amanda and Sabrina
how we loved them
cherished them
consoled the mom when her husband ran away
only to find out she too
had left them on the couch
with prescription drugs
and ran from her melancholy
smashed into a pole.
All these angels surround us
killed by the love of a mother
we give life not take it away
and so many mothers
struggle with their own breast-milk
their minds listening to voices
we can’t hear
their love consumed by fears
concocted death scenes
terror
little floating bodies in rivers.
It’s the ones we know who have
died this way
that shatter our dreams
like those two angels I taught
and still hang onto
their drawings
the little one with ginger hair
and loving eyes
the older one holding on
to sad goodbyes.
They were the exact same age as my
children.
The reasons don’t matter
when you see white tiny
coffins.
Comments:
16
Amazing poetry!
Curtsy. Thanks.
Don´t forget
We also have a blog, if you don´t vote us,,,
i like it
Thanks Leyla. So much love-)
Nice poem
Thank you.
No worries
Reblogged this on Christina Strigas .
This is so sad….but the ways you were able to convey these emotions into narrative is truly amazing.
thanks Dustin for noticing x
I cannot help but notice.:)
Thanks:))