Stillbirth

Stillbirth

This is a dry house, sucked of color,
like a time-faded photo.
Death strolled by the hopeful, waiting cradle.
snatching away her sweet womb-shine.


Like a time faded photo
he sits the front stoop steps,
blowing endless blue smoke rings
seeking solace in nicotine mandelas.


Death strolled by the hopeful, waiting cradle.
Her mother and sisters came
to keen and to cry, wraithful shades.
He makes do with pocket change.


Snatching away her sweet womb-shine
leaving hollow silence in its place
the death knell tolls for two left behind.
This is a dry house, sucked of color.

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