By
Kim Rapier
Today it is January
You would have been a year
old
I miss that first step
the first word
Denied
when the cold foreign instrument
sucked all life
from me.
I would have called you
Madison
or
Eric
And told you bed time stories
holding you tight
against unseen dangers.
But it never was
meant to be
when the doctor
said there was
no life
abruptly ending
your start.
It killed any lingering hope
buried inside.
Now its past January
And my womb
still cries out.
Do you tally by the heavenly
gate
with another that will bring you
to me?
Then I will wait
for your round angelic
face
As I bask in your celestial
glow
Till January comes
again
with renewed hope
my personal
epiphany.
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