Dec. 12, 2008 poem

Ghost

Dreaming, I saw the bassinet and
heard the loud cries. A baby, a ghost,
softly swaddled in white cotton and
so real I sat up and
reached for him or
her to give comfort in the night.

My arms fell. I was alone, and
in the great absence,
Empty conceived Grief.

But in bed, holding the infant in my arm, I knew
Love in condensed form
so beautiful it couldn’t be real but
was. Or would be in a millennium
unless Grief came to term.

Dec. 11, 2008 poem

In the Wait

In the wait
as if perched on a branch
wings trapped to my sides
wishing one swift wind
would carry me
into my life
unnaturally