In my Mother's house there are many
Rooms.
Brain and womb
Heart-my tomb. It rains
Cells in bundles-rearranged
In meaning no more
No less than skin or nails
Complex in form and
Animation.
Tiny daughter. My soul's salvation.
Know you were not cast aside
I did not conjure-or abide
With carelessness-how you could
Hide! Could I but know
Your peace. My soul-at last
Would rest-released.
Three times I failed, though
Did not try, and each cost me
Some pieces more. I pray that
You embrace the sky and live
On moonglow-evermore.
I have miscarried three times. I never wanted to get pregnant, yet each is a loss I cannot describe (this may be hard to hear when you have desperately wanted to conceive-but I must be honest). I worte this last week, after miscarrying at 9 weeks. There's no way to explain how we feel, is there? It's such a mystery of magic and life. I am a biochemist by training, so I tend to think in terms of cells and molecules, but no training prepares us for the greatest mystery of all-to create life and loose it. My love is with you all-and I pray for those of you who seek to have children, that you are gifted with them. There is a small blessing for me in having been pregnant though- for while I lost lives, I saw-however briefly-into the unknown.
Nicole K.