Women dropped white
rose buds into a tiny
lace-canopied bassinet.
They lit tall candles
as they called the names
and said goodbyes.
They received a long-stemmed red rose,
a hug, and a beige certificate with
the name of the mom, the dad, and the child.
A brass snuffer
blotted out the flame
of each taper.
On ivory helium-filled balloons, mothers wrote
the names of their aborted and
released them into misting clouds.
Just raindrops on my
cheeks as James’ globe
drifted up, wee small, into the sky?
August 1, 2018
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