Received: June 14, 2004
They scraped you from my womb.
What was once life-giving, had
Become your tomb.
“Pregnancy tissue” was the PC term,
Where eight weeks prior, you'd
Been a single sperm.
A collection of cells and matter,
The doctor had understated.
But I knew your potential.
I brought you home, today.
A plastic bio-hazard bag,
Of red frozen mince like batter.
I stared at you,
And tried hard to see
An embryo of him and me.
And now I grieve
For what is not,
For what could have been,
For what now will neither be heard nor seen.
Tomorrow we will bury you,
And plant a tree
In your honour.
Send you back to the earth
From whence you came.
Goodbye sweet spirit without a name.
