(for
Baby M)
Oh
one, not of my blood
How
is it I have become
the
keeper of your soul...
I
think my sea of tears
has
surely run dry;
I
have locked you away
in
a room, protected
from
further harm,
A
room to which only
I
hold the key
And
I am swallowing it...
The
conceit I carry
with
me being--
Only
I am able
to
repair the night
that
haunts you now.
Yes,
I am become
driven
to write
your
slate anew
Knowing
even as I
yearn,
the foolishness
of
this
There
will be
no
meshing
of
gears for you
or
your ashes
No
matter how
many
bargains
I
am willing
to forge
with
Time.
This is sad. I think of the bargains I've been willing to forge, and it haunts. And that room with only one key.... desolate. Strong write, Sharon.
ReplyDeletePowerful poem, Sharon.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and so sad. I am guessing it is about the loss of a baby. I can think of no more tragic loss than that of a child. My condolences to you.
ReplyDeleteTo become the keeper of another's soul is an awesome and terrible--and sacred--task.
ReplyDeleteA Wee Whirl
Tender and raw, written so beautifully.
ReplyDeleteHeartbreakingly tragic.
ReplyDeleteThis poem feels so like a personal cri de coeur that reading it feels almost an intrusion
ReplyDeleteThere's a sadness that revolves around this. Am feeling it just as much. Beautiful write!
ReplyDeleteHank