Pitter patter

This poem is a contemplative piece that explores parenthood and loss. It's inspired by experiences with those who have children and those who have lost them, some intentionally and some not.

Pitter patter

 

Pitter patter,

small feet on cold floors,
pitter patter,

I hear those feet in my house,
Pitter patter,

those small footfalls echo through my house,

pitter patter,

 a solid sound,
a reality to my tortured mind

but no it's only ghostly,

a fragment I remember,

a sound of laughter follows after pitter patter,

a wild and joyful laugh,

a childish laugh,

I hear it clearly,

as clear as pitter patter but it is not there,

it cannot be.

 

There are sheets over furniture

and dust on sheets

and still that pitter patter

and that childish laugh echo through this house.

I should not be hearing that pitter patter,

that carefree laugh cuz it has no source,

maybe once it could have been,

it should have been

but Death and God and relentless Fate took that pitter patter

and denied me that childish laugh;

 

In a house on the lake the doors are locked,

there are sheets on the leather chairs and plush soft sofas

and there is dust on those sheets,

ten year long dust

and in that house there is a nursery

and in that nursery there is a crib,
a plain square crib with angels drawn on its soft white sheets,

where the walls depict scenes of laughing kids,

in that house I sit alone and  listen to the sound of pitter patter

and joyful laughter,

sounds I should have known in reality
But Fate and God and Death took that all  from me.