AS MOTHERS DO.
Normally the sunlight
Would have warmed her
And made her happy and
Brought back all the fond
Memories of childhood
And playing out in fields
And climbing the trees
And sitting by the pond
Watching for fish. Now
She sits by the window
Looking out, the sunlight
Making no impression,
Conjuring no memories
Of childhood or games
Played, no sitting by ponds
Looking for fishes. He’ll
Be back putting on a brave
Face, shouldering the burden
Of the loss of baby and her
On the border of suicide mood.
She has the window open to
Allow in smells and sound
Of birds and fluttering flights
Of butterflies. The air is cool,
Not hot, she couldn’t bare that,
That heat, sticky, causing sweat
On brows and wet underarms.
She looks out, but sees nothing,
Nothing of interest, nothing to
Cause a rise of eyebrows or
Eyes to move in quick flicker.
She can see the sea over tree
Tops, hear gulls, smell salt.
She stood here with the baby
In her arms a day or so after
The birth and he was looking
Over her shoulder cooing to
The babe. Her arms are heavy
With the emptiness of loss.
Last night she dreamed she
Held her still and walked the
Room back and forth singing
Lullabies as mothers do.
Some days she closes her
Eyes and pretends the baby’s
There in her arms and she is
Rocking her to and fro to and
Fro and then she opens her eyes
And there’s nothing there, just
Emptiness riding through the air.
