Song of the Childless Woman
Up the dark stairs I am carrying
a dead child in my arms,
a child no grief can comfort,
a child who was never born.
Through the apartment window, streetlights
shine on that small pinched face
as I sit by, rocking the cradle
that will bring his heart no peace.
The soundless wail of his crying
echoes through empty rooms.
The breathless hush of his breathing
shakes the walls, like tiny drums.
Not all the hands of the lonely,
rocking that cradled shape,
all the lullabies of those unloved
can put that child to sleep.
And if I doze off while rocking
I shall dream, among many dreams,
how up dark stairs I am carrying
a dead child in my arms.
Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie