We are made of tears

Miranda and Jackson must face the bereavement room.

Ripple Poetry

cloudgirl4 - Copy ZedettaArt 

Bereavement Room

A room to pretend for a short time
we had a normal family life
our baby celebrating with us
but there’s no sound of her tears
what we would give for her cries.

In that space we discover
small gifts
from those who have lost their
loved tiny ones
only to be left with
little footprints
on cards

The bed spread is covered in butterflies
so bright
so light
and we have time to take photographs
to treasure
as if she lived
before we must surrender
the one we love to lie on a bed
of our salt water.

The midwife, Clara,
is so strong
treating us as if we are
like any other parent
but our
hearts are made of tears.

She gives us just enough space
but not too much, catches our tears
as the butterflies fly off the bed
spread and around the room.

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