When The Cradle Falls

Haunted.

I took a trip to Mothercare the other day,
Pregnant.  I have so much to buy.
Two sets of everything, one for each of you –
Bibs, bottles, rattles, dummies if you cry.

But that fantasy could only last an hour or two.
I try not to see myself in mirrors, make them shatter.
A fraud such as I should not be allowed in here.
It’s a charade, it’s a game, does it matter?

Pregnant women everywhere, gossip gossip gossip –
Morning sickness, cravings and such.
I stand apart in another place, a wake of fakes.
‘Pariah’ stitched on my clothes, don’t touch don’t touch.

I hold a baby in each arm
But neither one takes a breath.
They do not feed, they do not cry. 
Grown from seeds, my flowers of death.

My babies will not leave my side.
They follow me from room to room
Looking for somewhere to rest, in peace.
Don’t seek sleep inside my womb.

I’m a mother once, a mother twice
But childless still, denied, bereft.
Conception joy then dark departure.
One was killed, one just left.

I try to tell you it’s not my fault.
You were taken, I didn’t let you go.
But no magic phrase will clear this air.
I’m not a mother – we all know.

 

© Morney Wilson