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  • Me Too

    When I came home to a crib, dismantled
    Rather like the life I knew
    Somewhere in those catatonic hours
    There came a voice
    It said, me too.

    A community of women who birthed death
    Who unlike ‘widow’, ‘orphan’ have no name
    Shared photographs of waxen hands and wrinkled feet
    Lives not lived
    My child the same.

    Me too witnessed beauty beyond
    Blackened lips and nails; a slackened chin
    And gently rocked a lifeless babe to sleep
    Dabbing oozing nostrils
    Kissing livid skin.

    Me too was hope: the very sight
    Of those who came before me, who survive
    To know the pink and screaming siblings of
    Our silent children.
    Mothers not just living, but alive.

    And now I find myself, years on
    Moving ever forward in the queue
    As someone else begins the heavy march of
    Motherhood without a child
    And I can say
    Me too.
    Last edited by NJMaths; 03-10-2016, 06:29 AM.

  • #2
    Beautiful NJMaths. Me too.

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    • #3
      Well-written, NJ. Affecting and powerful!

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      • #4
        Thank you both your your kind comments, delighted to get an honourable mention for this poem, which is in memory of my daughter Nancy

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        • #5
          beautiful writing.

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            • #7
              Hello! I really liked your story. Thank you!
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