My T.O.P. child

On clear crisp nights I contemplate the stars,
vision my dead born child giggling at me there
pattering its tiny feet round mars
where freaks and lost souls don’t need human care.
I pray you understand my brutal choice.
I saved you from earth’s deal of constant pain,
from a short life, if lived, on life support.
And my body back, the chance to try again.

Those 13 weeks we reigned, then lost your father.
Within 6 months he found a youthful womb,
your half sister came just one year later
reduced your mum to mistress meetings at full moon.
Your short life ripped away love’s cosy cover,
new tangled hopes will swaddle your soon born brother.

Nov 2009