Poetry

Childless Splintered oak. Dust and lead. Grains inside your curves instead. Limp dead webs of spiders gone. a breeze of surgeons alcohol. It hurts us somewhere to see a child, with some new mother, smile. It hurts us somewhere. Look away. Collect the dolls and cats, and pray. Rusted, broken. Sad and raw. What was so normal is no more.