the paint has chipped off of her winter sign
a gift, now 3 years old
my grief growls
and like a rabid dog i snap at the air
and stomp and thrash at the dirt
the injustice of the wind! of snow! of rain!
to pick at the edges of such crafted wood
that is just trying to comfort the ground around it
such heinous acts of nature
bait me with its neutrality
and i cannot fathom the anger inside me
how am i supposed to show her i miss her
when everything i lay before her
ultimately gets washed or thrown away?
how am i supposed to find peace
without her
when all i have are temporal markers
of my love?….
Less Than 1%: Surviving My Stillborn 