 The Lost children
I didn't write this, but I found it in a book I was reading. It touched something so deep in me, I didn't know it was there. I cried really hard, maybe that's a good thing.
The Lost Children
Barbara Crooker
the ones we never speak of-
miscarried, unborn,
removed by decree,
taken too soon, crossed over.
They slip red mittens in our hands,
smell of warm wet wool,
are always out of sight.
We glimpse them on escalators,
over the shoulders of dark-haired women;
they return to us in dreams.
We hold them as they evanesce;
we never speak their names.
How many children do you have?
Two, we answer, thinking three,
or three, we answer, thinking four;
they are always with us.
The lost children
come to us
at night
and whisper
in the shells
of our ears.
They are waving goodbye
on school buses,
they are seperated from us
in stadiums,
they are lost in shopping malls
with unspeakable pools,
they disappear on beaches,
they shine at night in the stars...
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Unofficially TTC for 7 years.
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