(Untitled)

[_freethinker_]

Anne Waters,
    December 21, 1862

Dreamed I had my baby
back,
Held her in a blanket
before the fire
and rubbed her
arms and legs
until she moved again,
and then began to cry.
I was suddenly
filled up,
like something solid
had entered my body,
or an arm lost long ago
had returned
to swell the empty sleeve and
drive away the phantom pain.
We

Comments

[liddle_oldman]

Ouch.

(Hi, though!)

[_freethinker_]

I'm sorry Professor. Sometimes, when I find something that I want to think about or remember, I make a note of it here, but I forget that people will read it. When I read this poem, the feeling seemed right, and when I reread it just now I realized that was because of the physical aspect of grief. I won't put it in words here.

I have always enjoyed your writing Professor. Not only because of the way you handle words, which is lovely, but because I know you are tender-hearted.

[liddle_oldman]

I was not complaining! I was acknowledging the emotional impact of the piece. It's honest, and terribly sad.

The first day after a new death is always the same

Never apologize for showing your heart. I am sorry grief is resonating for you.