My Stillborn Child, by Jose Coleman
Mhow, India, January 1941
Oh my heart's darling why
could they not let you lie
under the open sky
outside the wall
where the clean rain could fall
and the sun shine?
Silent. No bird will sing
there where you lie
under the tall thin trees.
They with their pointed leaves
crowd out the light,
filter the monsoon rains,
deaden the air along lines of graves.
Do you rest still,
would-be companion of the sundrenched hours,
ghost child to play among the jasmine flowers
in my heart still.
by my mother, Jose Coleman 1916-2016
(Simon, the first of her nine children, only survived 3 days)