Joshua
Timothy you
weren’t supposed to be
five years old and dead in the
morning. Christmas boy, you were the first
baby born with such heartrending problems, whom
I adopted, and loved with a passion; “he’s terminal” they said,
but I shrugged them off, not yet afraid to love; “he needs a mommy”,
my only thought; still pouring out my heart freely with adoration
on my gorgeous lovely baby boy.
~ ~ ~
Laughing child
filled with grace, patient
with your deepest woes and pain,
such an exquisite little face, chestnut curls
thick in my fingers, deep rich brown eyes sparkling
into mine; love, oh love so pure, you loved me so completely,
as I did you, ah, tender one cradled in my lap, I loved rocking your blues
away night and day for nearly six years. You were my precious tiny teacher,
and I learned to love as I had never loved before.
~ ~ ~
Now you will forever be suddenly
a feather in my arms, lying there, still and
cold, slim legs hanging, head heavy, with my tearless
shocked eyes dripping scalding sorrow on your auburn curls, my
veins paralyzed in ice water; my mother-heart frozen in grief. And even now
after all these many years, when I write of you,
my tears
still
fall