Poems

space

He left a space.
Never knew he was a "he" until the post mortem.
The little life. I never saw his face.
A tiny body. A huge space.

He left a void.
It couldn’t be filled with drink or drugs
Believe me, I tried.
Six months’ gestation. Eternal void.

He left guilt.
Was I wrong to decorate his room,
Buy a pram with matching quilt?
Three pounds, two ounces. Heavy guilt.

He left despair.
A freak with bad insides
A child I could not bare.
Neo-natal death. Life of despair.

He left me
Alone with my bottle and pills
And people saying it wasn’t meant to be.
A wanted son. He left me.

By Amanda Weeks