You came like a bolt into my womb and into my heart. And then my body and my world fell down.
You were so loved for that short time that I carried you.
A paper cut-out of a life full of future. Crumpled, discarded. As a fluttered heartbeat …..stops….. and bloody pulp gets flushed away.
My body throbs with your loss, achingly knowing you are not there.
This is grief without the memories to anchor back to. Only the space where your tiny form would have parted the air is gone.
I can still taste the place you would have been.
In my plans.
In my dreams.
In my arms.
I wrote most of this poem after having a miscarriage over 5 years ago and it’s now ready to be sent into the world. I am now at peace with our loss, and feel unbelievably blessed to have my husband and two boys. But I feel it’s important to be honest about what our unborn baby meant to me, and how it felt for the promise of that new life to be wrenched away. Miscarriage is very common, but I feel it is too rarely talked about.
Three years old and arms reached high touching the sky on Selsley common.
I wrote this in the summer of 2020, as we were emerging from the first lockdown. Loved ones had died and been born without us being there. But over that beautiful, hard summer, there were also quiet moments of joy. Just over a year latermy boys were back on the bench, a year older but still reaching for the sky.