We are made of tears

ZedettaArt

Bereavement Room

In a room to pretend
for a short time
we had a normal family life
our baby celebrating with us
but there’s no sound of her tears

what we would give for her cries.

In that space we discover
small gifts
from those who have lost their
loved tiny ones
only to be left with
little footprints
on cards.

The bed spread is covered in butterflies
so bright
so light
and we have time to take photographs
to treasure
as if she lived
before we must surrender
the one we love to lie on a bed
of our salt water.

The midwife, Clara,
is so strong
treating us as if we are
like any other parents
but our
hearts are made of tears.

She gives us just enough space
but not too much, catches our tears
as the butterflies fly off the bed
spread and around the room.

I remember the kicks
the time she lived
and danced
inside of me.

Jackson
remembers
playing her favourite music and
the way she would respond.

We must celebrate that she took a
few breaths
she did live for a few minutes.

Yet we are made of tears for her.
We long to dance with her not
for her.

We have to believe she is an angel
with butterfly wings now.

She flies through the clouds
of our tears.

(c) June Perkins

Jackson and Miranda in the bereavement room after the loss of their child. They are fictional characters but their emotions are real. I was watching a moving story about mid wives, and how some hospitals have a bereavement room where they take parents to, to give them time with their child before she or he must be buried. I am thinking of writing a piece from the perspective of the midwife. This documentary was so touching. I may rework this piece too, but this is the continuation of the poetic series. The plot is revealing itself.