birth unmarked

Reggie

Born in a bathroom stall,
A boy not built to breathe
As a man, too soon he came
Only mama held his body,
Warmth fading limb by limb.

She waited there alone,
Sanctity of privacy granted
By the nature of the place--
Toilets made for refuse of body
Not the receiving of souls.

She waited there with him,
Absurd idea to give birth there,
Ill timed and out of order--
This stall is taken, use the next--
Gestation interrupted;

Her life pauses to hold the remains
Of what is left, a replica
No more human but a picture of him
Who was drawn to his creator
The boy returns, his body bent to earth.

From dust to dust, says the priest.
So let it be.  And she awaits
The coming of the husbandman,
Tied to the dead man-child's flesh
She carried life in blood and water, mingled.


Ps.  this poem is part 2, of a series.

05 July 2012

I miscarried today.
In a restaurant an hour from our hotel.
It was a nice hotel,
  a time to be reunited
  celebrate our service together
  let the children dance in their father's arms
  a while, while there was free time,
  remembering a place to be free.
With husband, the kids, and five strangers,
  strangers to me, those with whom he has worked
  these three or so months, a full season
  a season to be known as a lifetime,
  the lifespan of our third child
  who failed to thrive with us.
Met some firemen and paramedics.
Got my first ambulance ride.
Passed out two or three times.
Got to hold the baby in my hands
  for a long time, immeasurable
  ...............................................
He was perfect,
  with all his fingers and toes
  intact, man replicated remarkably
  alike in form of every other man.
Got back to the hotel from the hospital.
Going to sleep; it's 5 am,
   to let the thoughts die, let it rest.
We have the baby in the fridge.
At some point we will need to bury him.
But I can't face that right now,
Or even think about it;
  thankful for freedom not to decide,
  for the present needs a wide space
  to be weighed, held, watched
  for what will become of us is not what I feel now.
It's a horrible thing to have to do,
And yet, I am thankful
  for something held and something to bury
  after flushing--not by design or intention
  for I lost a choice, lost something free,
  a body free of measured worth--
  after flushing two babies in the past.
Pray, what I fear to pray, for grace
  sufficient when I get there, to know
  what is sufficient for this time.

 

Ps. This story is not "mine," the author. It happened to my sister, my friend, a part of our body which hurts if one of it's members is destroyed or in any way injured.