Wicked Light

Sweat drenches

my body.

I push,

grind my teeth

against pain


I don’t feel.


I am given

a tiny form,

naked and wet,

whose sweet face


I don’t see.


I wake at night,

my breasts heavy,

in response to a cry


I don’t hear.


It’s a boy.


I know somehow.


I had a boy.


And he needs to be fed.


I see the bassinet

on the side of my bed,

shrouded by the darkness

of night.


I reach


and the odd

sensation of




as the morning light

brushes aside

the shadowed vision

in my mind.


I grope, in vain,

for the memory

of my son.


But the sun

and its

wicked light

forces me

to see






by my bed.

What are your thoughts?