When evening draws in
So does the ache for what might have been
The day's busyness dwindles
And the ghosts of passed hopes are vivid
realer than reality
What is missing is what I see.
Where are the curly heads
Where are the tiny dresses
Where is the stillness of sleeping babes against my breasts
Barren breasts now whose milk I had to stifle,
to strangle out of existence.
The day fades and I ache
For what should have been
For a world where little ones aren't lost
and a new mama isn't left to spend each night
cuddling close two little teddies
which bear the memory of her daughters' hands.