Still Birth

An empty womb,
A long trail of stretch marks,
Heavy breasts filled with milk and no soul to feed,
A recovering birth canal,
A shedding uterine wall accompanied by a river of blood;

I held his tiny lifeless body in my arms,
I gazed at his minute wrinkled fingers and imagined how having them touch me would have felt,
As I wept,
I silently I wished that I had been granted the opportunity to have his little lips wrapped around my nipple drawing nutritional fluid out of me,
Mother Earth was so cruel she silenced him before I could hear him cry,
Time stood still,
When they told me my birth was still,
I held his tiny, lifeless body in my arms.

There he lies,
My unnamed baby boy,
In a nameless grave,
His presence jotted down in invisible ink,
His existence never to be acknowledged in earth’s history books,
The only earth he ever knew was my womb; his conception and murder site,
There he lies in an unnamed grave.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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About tshauambea

I am a lover of poetry and nature; a writer and aspiring photographer. View all posts by tshauambea

6 responses to “Still Birth

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