Two nights after John Blaise was stillborn, I woke in the middle of the night with a poem in my head. I’m talking 4 am. And full verses. I had been given this poem.
A good friend from church and one of my writing groups read it for me at John’s memorial mass. I read it at Alexander’s. And it is included in my forthcoming book, Love Like Weeds.
This, especially the last verse, has become a kind of prayer of mine.
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In the Quiet
You are in the quiet space
where I used to feel alone.
You are in my empty arms,
not in my womb or grown.
You’ll be in each infant’s cries,
not at my begging breast.
You are in the mid of night
when no new parent rests.
You’ll be in your brothers’ eyes:
I’m sure you’d have the same.
You’ll be in a stranger’s words
when they casually say your name.
You are Home in the safest place
a mother’s child could be,
but God knows in my broken heart
I wish you were with me.
You were never ours to keep:
no person ever is.
Too soon we were reminded, though,
that you were always His.
© 2010 Julie Ann Cook
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