We are made of tears
A poem from a narrative series in progress.
ZedettaArt
Bereavement Room
In a room to pretend
for a short time
we had a normal family life
our baby celebrating with us
but there’s no sound of her tears
what we would give for her cries.
In that space we discover
small gifts
from those who have lost their
loved tiny ones
only to be left with
little footprints
on cards.
The bed spread is covered in butterflies
so bright
so light
and we have time to take photographs
to treasure
as if she lived
before we must surrender
the one we love to lie on a bed
of our salt water.
The midwife, Clara,
is so strong
treating us as if we are
like any other parents
but our
hearts are made of tears.
She gives us just enough space
but not too much, catches our tears
as the butterflies fly off the bed
spread and around the…
View original post 178 more words
Conversations with Creative Souls 