NO PITTER PATTER.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A WOMAN AND HER DEAD CHILD.

Submitted: September 01, 2010

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Submitted: September 01, 2010

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There won’t be no pitter-patter
Of tiny feet this time around,
She knows that now, yet some
How it doesn’t quite sink in,

She still thinks that if she waits
Until the last moment she’ll prove
The doctors wrong and the dead
Baby in her womb will spring into

Life and kick and bang the womb walls.
The dead weight is a constant reminder
And people saying, how’s the baby?  
How long to go? You must t be so

Proud and she wants to shout aloud,
Fuck no, it’s a dead one, I’m just a
Walking coffin, but she doesn’t, she
Just looks past them trying to imagine

A kick, a movement, a sense of life
Being there, just so she can say, yes,
Won’t be long now, and yes, I feel so
Happy and we’re going to call her…

But there isn’t the same kind of sun
Anymore, the clouds seem heavier,
The wind blows harder, and even in
Dreams she still follows the same

White coffin with the single red rose
And the same path between rows and
Rows of others who are either fathers,
Sisters, brothers or unlike her, fulfilled

And tested mothers. She sits and cries
And knows what’s to come: to give birth
To a dead child, to hear the soft plop,
Feel the last push and sense the drop.


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