Two sonnet poem with a line in the middle


Two sonnet poem with a line in the middle

for Sara



I recall the hours we spent
In the fertility hospital
With the councillors, speaking
Together, amid tears, in a ball
Of sorrowing, of what we’d lost;
How we grieved, but held fast, to each
Other; not father, or mother, but partners,
More than coping, striving to outlast,
To outrun, the terrible emptiness
That hits the core when loss is all around
Like a ringing sound after the blast;
It was a broken, bewildering time,
And we barely threw ourselves free
Of the smoking wreck; harrowed,

We found a sort of semi-peace;

A shaking of hope’s tree
That brought down some small apples,
Marked, pitiably small, half-rotten;
But we picked them up, as ours,
As yours, and mine; from the only
Garden we had, from then on in;
And we walked, with our basket
Of spoiled fruit, thankful still
For this least of blessings, this insult
From the top down of the bountiful
Possibilities nature promised, once.
And from the miserable cull
Came an apple sauce to spread
On our famine, to make a tart feast.

July 2, 2019


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