AUTUMN'S GRIEF.

A WOMAN REMEMEBERS HER DEAD BABY.

Each autumn, each full moon
When the moonlight shines
Through the uncurtained window
Onto the cradle where baby lay,

Is the apex of her grief. Sometimes
When she enters the room and
Stares into the cradle, she imagines
The baby is still there kicking and

Making noise and smiling the smile
And waving the small hands, and
Although she knows it isn’t real,
She waves back still. Where the

Moonlight touches the small pillow,
There lays the baby’s shadow, where
The small indentation of baby’s body
Lay, she keeps it as it was with each

Crease and wrinkle as set in stone,
Not for the passing world’s cold gaze
Or care, but herself alone. In one corner,
A small child’s rattle, in another,

The tiny bear brought by her mother.
She wanders around the room, taking
In each aspect of the walls and floor
And pictures and mats and moonlight,

And baby’s ghostly presence in the
Cradle’s gentle rock to and fro, and the
Baby’s wave of hand when it’s time to go.

Reviews

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

So much sorrow seeped from this well written piece!