a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

Emily Dickinson
Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Unposted draft I started on his 2nd Anniversary

There's been a story in the news these last couple of days about a woman who kidnapped a baby in 1987 and the child just discovered her true identity. The woman confessed and said she had suffered several miscarriages and was desperate to have a baby. As crazy as kidnapping a baby is, I understand. I remember feeling this way after we lost Milos. That I was so baby crazy, aching, yearning for a baby that I couldn't look at another child or even come close for fear I would run off with it! ...

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