Loss

Loss

As she felt the pains,
And knew, this one, too, is gone.
It is leaving me,
Leaving my body.
In painful agony.

Why do these children,
I long for, so deeply,
Not want to stay within my body?

To stay, to become a part
Of our family...
Will my circle of love
not be sufficient,
to entice this one,
this child,
to stay,
to become part of our lives?

The basic longing for this,
Or any child,
Is so raw,
so primitive,
Denial seems so cruel.

Each miscarriage is a slap.
A comment on fitness,
To be a parent.

The nurses sneer,
"You don't really want this child"
"What have you done?"
Vituperative venom!
Such Bitches!
Such monumental
Lack of compassion!

These bereft wives
Of the Prisoners Of War.

After the War,
When they lost those precious,
Longed-for children, unformed.

They shoulder, & wear,
the accusations, the blame.
For the lost babies.
That don't 'stay',
That miscarry.

Because, they are imperfect,
They are the product of the Prisons,
Where their father's were held,
Prisoners of a War.
In malnutrition,
In deprivation.

The ones that finally 'take',
The precious children,
That are born,
whole, perfect,
Miracles,
Every one of them.

Children of a hideous War.
Children, that are the hope for
Our future.
For Man's future.

Who will sing the song
Of mourning,
For those mothers,
Who endured those pains
To bring those children
Into this world,
For their turn at this life?

Janis Ian, This Must Be Wrong.