• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 08


Eyes closed, heads averted
we cling to each other.

We cannot
mend the ruffles of our empty pram.

Like conjoined twins, not lovers,
we cling to each other.

It is not the time to speak.
It is not the time to see.
It is time to let the pain weld us together.

If we let go, we will spiral away.
If we speak, we will stab each other.
Instead I hold my hands
over our baby's first home.
You touch my hand, your body against my back.
We let the silence
breathe hope into the space
where tiny fingers once clutched ours.
We listen for colicky breathing, but there is only my
raspy breath and your steady heartbeat.