Omen
In mid-August I dreamed dark dreams of loss and grief,
tears and pain so deep I almost couldn't breathe
and I woke up wondering
where the angels were?
He lived inside me then.
I'd feel his sharp movements
and convince myself everything was okay.
Tried to steer myself away from the warning
while I folded baby clothes and cleaned.
And kissed by the lips of God, I forgot.
A week before the end, I stumbled upon a book
and devoured it-- the first book I ever read about loss.
Sleep was elusive, so I read every night.
I studied Angels, tried to find peace.
And admired the tiny baby shoes I had gathered.
Every Saturday night, for years
I mourned his weekly anniversary.
My empty arms dripping with the chalice of my tears
and the awful ache of my own misery.
Forgotten by God and the angels.
