Time Of Birth (Poetry)

There are just the two of us tonight —
me and that old faithful stalker pain
bullying down the hallways of my body
banging open doors I cannot lock because
it’s that day of the year again.

I was your house — your home
your flesh and blood
my walls remember well.
Your tiny heartbeat echoes on —
you are the ghost of love inside me
weeping soft for what has gone.

Ruined now, familiar skin hangs rough as rag
long-empty of its purpose.
The rooms you knew are aching raw
the beams exposed to weather —
cold years of aging storms.

Hurt rolls in frowning clouds —
builds fierce on barren hilltops. Grief blurs
the edge — blots out all blue.
Regret’s a hollow winter-coloured sky.

A train whistles in the distance
right on schedule, passing through ...

Close to sleep, I listen — hear once more
my newborn’s first wail — your knifing cry.