Harper

A poem to my stillborn daughter:

My Child, my Love, My Little Girl:

No one was ever wanted more than You.

You were our Joy, our Long-Expected One. 

We saw your Hand, tiny, sweet, good, waving

To your anxious, cautious, loving parents,

From the screen of an ultrasound machine:

The closest view we had of You until

The bitter, blizzard day when we held You

In arms shaking with weariness, with joy,

With grief.  Your mother and father loved you.

We watched your Heart beating through sonograms,

Listened with at-home monitors, until

The snowy afternoon, when they told us

That it had stopped – that your life was over,

Before it had begun.

You were at once the sweetest and saddest

Thing I have ever seen.  Your gentle, dark,

Beautiful Face infects my mind and heart

In sleep, in waking, at work, at moments

Of happiness, playfulness, weariness,

Depression, melancholy, boredom.

Your tiny Hands imprint my man’s large hands,

And I recall closing my long fingers

Around your Fingers: slight, still, ashen, cold.

Cradles, bedding, clothing, and toys littered

Our home from early fall until the day

We lost You. Our friends swept and scoured the house,

Quickly moving baby things out of sight,

To the upstairs bedroom we had prepared

For You.  Our home would never be your home.

Your Home is in a green field, forever

Cradled on the lap of my grandfather.

Each week your mother and I visit You,

Embrace, weep, wish, and want, dreaming that You 
Are with us.  You are our Family, our Home.

Where You are, there are We complete.