My Annual Grieving Season
Tomorrow looms like no other,
each year no less than before,
bringing back pain of separation.
Doctors could not explain,
my body never complained,
until that day when the pregnancy ended.
No ritual brought closure.
No support came from those knowing not what to say.
My husband seemed confused.
Tomorrow I alone will grieve,
loving the child I never knew.
An empty bedroom with closed door—
the only monument.
Partially decorated, undusted,
preserving vestiges of hope.
My husband will leave in the morning,
his daily routine unbroken.
Strangers will live in our house
until the season passes.
Copyright © Gerald Greene | Year Posted 2019
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