You know what? Just because their
sons, their daughters, aren't here,
doesn't mean they aren't mothers:
the heart remembers. So does the
womb. Arms hold only memories
now, ghosts of what-could-have-
beens. Maybe a note, maybe not.
Heads bowed, they cry until there
is nothing left. The very least we
can do is honor their sacrifice ...
Karla, you have reached into the heart and delivered a compassionate work that honors them and recognizes the horror of their agony. We cannot compensate them for their losses. I wish you love and peace my dear friend. Jon Michael
Glad I caught this at the right time, Karla, because I wholeheartedly agree. Who can know the pain of such a loss? A bereavement of sorts but without, often, the ability of closure. My heart goes out to those who suffer each and every day as a consequence. May they find peace and resolution somehow, somewhen. xx
Oh, Karla. A wonderful, glorious poem that speaks deeply from the heart. I was mesmerized as I read your words, reading them over and over again as they sunk gracefully into my spirit. AWESOME, girl!
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Amor
Joy L. Hale
Deborah
Ron
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin, Karen Lynn. :(