No Child of my Body

- jan-u-wine

I have learned
may be
just as heavy
upon the heart as
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It is not as quiet
about the smial
as once it was.
I am glad of it.
I tell myself that,
in the solitude
of my study.
I tell myself
I am glad
of the sounds,
both large
and small
that waken
the house
in the depths
of night,
that brighten
even the sun-dappled
I tell myself
that to be less
than glad of it
would be ungrateful.
Still, I cannot
the silence that falls
upon my heart
at the sight of her,
the pain that tightens
my throat
as tiny fingers hold to mine.
I wonder,
if even I yet live,
if all that is left me
is not just an emptied form
(like those that fell to dust
on that day a little over a year distant).
Unbidden, knowledge writes itself large
within my mind:
there will be
no child
of my body,
no other orphan
bound to entranc'd evil.
My head bows beneath this new weight.
I thought I had paid
I thought
it might be granted
that something
remain of me
save diminishing memory.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I hold this small life to me.
Golden, like the flower
she was named for -
her head smells of cinnamon and sun-shine,
of blossoms
within honey'd Spring. 
Grief closes my heart:
I will not be here to tell her stories.
I will not be here to see her grown.
Will she dance with ribbons
in the wheat of her hair,
like her mum,
beneath a moon-lemoned sky?  
Will her fingers be brown
and knowing with the wisdom of earth,
will they summon forth
like her da's?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My broken hand
finds blessing
and rest
upon your brow.
My lips form words
of remembrance,
fine silver within 
the tender realm of your ear.
On a day
over-laid by fog,
of a sudden,
you shall long
for the smell of the Sea.
You shall live there,
golden Elanor,
and hear my voice
within the sound of the waves
and the lonely shift
of the wind upon sand.
For all that there shall be no child
of my body,
shall be
the child of my heart.