My Little Angel
A poem for the lost tiny lives
I searched for you
among the white tissues
and the red knots,
the first time you left me
on the bathroom floor —
and then the second time,
and yet again the third.
Each time you formed
in my womb,
only to leave me
bleeding on the floor;
I searched for a face,
a shape to cherish you —
a life that beat with me
for a while
before it abruptly ceased.
Each time I saw you
pale and still,
I wished so much you’d tell me,
what it was that I did wrong.
But more, yet,
I wished you knew
how much you were loved.
Every time I buried you
in that one-inch ground,
placing over you
a white little flower,
I prayed in silence
that I’d see you again.
Last time I did,
when they took you
shrouded in my severed tube
I hoped, dear child, it kept you warm
while they put your beating heart to rest.
They said if you grew in there,
it would explode and bleed me to death.
Oh, how I chose my life over yours,
I wish I could someday forget.
If only it could soften the regret—
this river of tears that I cry for you.
