Another period. Another pregnancy lost. A child stillborn. Different paths toward emptiness—all devastating.
Even if we try to pray, our prayers often crumble in our souls, our dreams dissolve in our hearts. Despair seeps in the doors, taps at the windows, and threatens to clog all our passages of hope. How can we speak softly to God when we see, yet again, the fruitless stain of our blood; when we feel the lifeless mass slipping from our womb; or when we hold a beautiful, perfect but still child in our arms? For some of us, no amount of explanation—medical or theological—can soothe.
Releasing my poems allowed me to offer love and care to other women who suffer miscarriage.