one small breath, light on my fingertips

one small breath, light on my fingertips,
downy raven hair plastered to pale skin,
and green, green eyes that stare back at me,
innocence and love in one gaze.

but reality comes and takes you away,
four months and then gone,
a whisper in wind,
tainted only by the metallic smell of blood.

i think of all the times that we could have had,
where your small fingers wrapped around my thumb
and your lips curved into an impish grin,
as you chortled and giggled.

i never did see you,
only four months and you were taken away,
an angel that disappeared from this earth
too soon, who never laid eyes on me.

a small bump, taken and gone in a night,
my lonely body craving your weight,
and i will never see you grow up,
never see you breathe, smile.

today, i only wish for

one small breath, light on my fingertips.

Miscarriages are common in society; because this topic hardly comes up in conversations, the family usually feels alone; the mother, guilty.

To the mothers who have gone through miscarriages yet have carried the memory of the lost babe with them to success on the other side, I feel the utmost sympathy for your hardships, and I admire your strength for overcoming a loss of someone you never saw but you knew.