Some days are heavy with memories. April 14th is one such—the day my first child was born.
Actually, she wasn’t my first child. Like so many women, I had a prior pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage. That miscarriage occurred a year before my baby girl was born. (Both were right around Easter.)
Today, a poem about this special day and the memories and what-ifs that surface.
Spring. Pink Blossoms
pile in boulevard drifts
float in rain rivers along the gutters.
In the kitchen a cake, decorated
with pastel eggs and candles.
If, that April, so many years ago
I had been able to stop the cramps
the doctor to staunch the bleeding
the Doptone to pick up
from its cold spot
on my burgeoning belly
a whisper of life
I wouldn’t have sobbed
through Easter emtpy-wombed
but we also wouldn’t be lighting
these candles today.
© 2011 – Violet Nesdoly (All Rights Reserved)