The Lost Poets Series:  Gwendolyn Brooks:  The Mother

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children
you got that you did not get

The damp small pulps with a
little or no hair, the singers
and workers that never handled
air.

You will never neglect or beat
them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking
thumb or scuttle off ghosts that
come.

You will never leave them, controlling
your luscious sigh, return for a snack
of them with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children. I have contracted. I have
eased my dim dears at the breasts
they could never suck.

I have said, sweets, if I sinned, if
I seized your luck and your lives
from unfinished reach, if I stole
your births and your names,
your straight baby tears and your
games, your stilted or lovely
loves, your tumults, your marriages
aches, and your deaths, if I poisoned
the beginnings of your breaths...

Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine, whine
that the crime was other than mine?
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather instead, you were never made. But that too, I am afraid, is faulty: Oh what shall I say, how is the
truth to be said?

You were born, you had a body,
you died. It is just that you never
giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though
faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.


Miscarriage: A Hurt never Healed
(By Poetikmind)

Like an ache, miles across a galaxy
Like the knowin' there will never be

She is lost...torrential,  her rain
She has lost...monumental, the pain

Like the sea, weavin' it's wonders
swirl, in it's depths deep down under
Like the swallow, of expanse the sky
Hear it eternal...her maternal cry...

She suffers a hurt, only a mother
knows will never heal
She dies each death, with every
loss soul's reveal...