The pram rocked with the child’s cries
To the blue sky above, to the migrating birds
Who flew past the little blob wailing and
Calling like a romulus into the empty
Suburban quiet. The absences grew
A groundcover spreading over space,
Grew a garden around the lament
Grew music in every blank spot,
Made a language of replenishment.
We suffused the silence with reassuring
Nonsense seeping warmth into dark nooks
Blood ran through roots
Requiring watering, daily, to keep alive.
I tried to be your spanish shawl
Wrapped you up warm, carried you
Sat, laughed, chattered, cajoled
You so that you thought I would
I could, save you
When you became a child again.
Covering ground is back-breaking
Trailing tendrils set out bravely.
A peopled polis is born to soothe
A howling fear. The sound of a garden
Grows in absentia, struggling to create
Something in the vast expanse of time.
Copyrighted by the author