i hang the flowers upside down
and the love pours out.
it is hard to contain,
although i’m still trying to.
months of withholding hope,
of swallowing fragments of faith,
of blacking out glimpses of a future
i was terrified to believe in
have taken their toll on me.
and yet his sweet smell
and gentle whimpering
beg me to take it seriously now
his birth demands a seat at the table
next to her death
and i am forced to listen, to see
that he is really here.
i think all of this with a trembling brain
as the December wind bites me at her grave
and i look up at the sky
and beg for her snow to fall.