prayers

Until you can see
again, I'll write poems
you can't read that
are really prayers because
even though you don't
believe anymore,
I still do.

when wolf cries

when wolf cries

aloud or inside

moon cries too

From Jonathan to David on His Birthday (or vice versa)

unexpected gift
friend whose soul is knit with mine
many happy walks

walking in the sun

spring conversation

you can go very far in

just 30 minutes

a little thanks

thankful today

in English and real life

cello and snow rhyme

we are determined to make this week better

when I got to work, there was
a poem on my keyboard next
to my wrist brace, and the poem
was deep and wise and magical
and the tree on it was where the
magic lived twisted ink branches
bereft of leaves that will live next
to the painted full moon waiting
for whatever happens next

Today I am grateful for (2)

Today I am grateful for

• 2 teeny tree frogs on the same window pane at midday
• 2 deer walking across the work parking lot in the cool of the evening after I got out of the gym
• 2 AM bedtime after not-enough-time with two old friends and two new
• weather too gorgeous to be believed
• 2 functioning hips to walk to the ice cream place
• 2 dollars to spend on ice cream

that night (and early morning)

I wonder if I am better 

at being present 

here and now or if I 

am just finally as good 

as I used to be when 

I was a child.

a summer moon

I called to tell you

to go outside and look

at the moon right now

because it hung above

the river banks an

impossibly huge and

pitted pewter coin

ready to fall.

About resting badly

for Liz, who is probably right

"You're doing it

wrong," she says

on Facebook in what

I imagine is the aggrieved-

affectionate tone the

Bloggess' long-suffering

husband Victor uses

when he says it to

her.  I think she's right

because other people

would not encourage

resting so much if it

did as much damage

to them as it somehow

does to me.  Does

anyone know where

I could learn how to

safely rest?  Are there

classes for this sort

of thing?  I can't see

the solution as: stop

resting because being

exhausted is bad

enough, but it's worse

when I add resting-

related injuries to the 

mix.  There must be 

a way for me to learn 

how to rest more 

safely.  Maybe

if I practiced it 

as often as I am 

supposed to, I 

would be 

better 

at it?
It can't
hurt
to
try,
right?

it takes two

Sometimes

you need two

teeny tree frogs

to get through

the day

and

two great friends

to get you through

the night.

If all I cared about was the pain

then I should not have held
the baby, but I refuse
to reduce my life to
the reduction
of pain
if it means
I can never hold
the babies.

How to love the broken

I don't know how 

to communicate

through all the broken 

glass and spikes you

have wrapped yourself 

in that you are loved 

and liked and you

do not have to be 

like your mother

or let her have 

this power over you

anymore.

A good reunion

My voice today

is still a little bit

hoarse from talking

to people I love

but only see once

a year or even less

frequently, and that

is one way to tell it

was a good reunion.

Give me a warning, I beg you

Is it wrong of me to wish
you hadn't posted the picture
of your dead baby dressed
like a doll in the gift another
friend made for you?

Is it weak of me to wish I hadn't
seen that deformed face and
the blue splotchy body because
he never quite managed to take
his first (and last) breath?

The mistake I made yesterday

The mistake I made
was to wave goodbye to a
friend with my left hand.

The end is nigh

The due date is near.  It's no longer mother's day but May 16th.  Three more days +14 before they induce.  I cannot imagine what it must be like.

Recently, my friend said, "He's definitely running out of space in there, so we'll see how long he stays."  I wanted to just break down.  What a tension she must be wrestling with: The clash of wanting every minute with this life, no matter how doomed, and the desire to be delivered (a word that never seemed more appropriate).  The day of his birth will be the day of his death, so she wants as much time with him as she can get.  But the discomfort grows daily, the burden of bringing a death into the world, as Cordelia said in Barrayar (only more literally in this case). 

The pain won't end, though, with the birth-and-death.  And the mourning won't begin at that moment.  It began long ago when they heard the truth about their baby.  Oh, friends, I weep for you, but there's nothing I can really do to easy your suffering.

There are kids outside riding bikes in the rain, and my heart breaks again along the same fault lines.  Oh, God.

baby pictures

An old acquaintance posted a picture of his friends and their baby with anencephaly during his brief life.  The photo angles were careful not to show the missing parts of the baby's skull and brain, and I cried again for my friend and her husband, and I prayed they would have the chance to take beautiful, heartbreaking pictures like those, and I remembered my sister's baby who she never got to hold, dead before it was born, and I couldn't even cry.

Invitation to care

There's more, but that's
what my friend's email subject
was condensed down
to on the screen,
and it was true.

If I sign up for
automatic updates
I will learn about
the progress of their
brainless baby.

I will get
to tick down
the days
until it is born
and dies.

Obviously I
should accept this
invitation to care, but
I don't know
if I can bear to.

between us

.

between us

The next time we meet, there will be
a dead baby between us, and I will not
know what to say, and I will not want
to make eye contact because I will not
want to cry all over you because things
will be sad enough for you and your
dead baby without my tears.

.