Nativity of Loss
(I will always love you, my heart.)

I read a poem that evoked a tear
a single, trembling drop
that spun me backward,
into shadows of what was
and the ever-present numbness
of could-have-beens.

25 days to go…
The air tastes different now,
heavier with memory,
as the earth tilts toward the same cold light
year after year.

a hardened, stone womb
cold and silent
yet not strong enough
to cradle your life.

the eve of the birth
of our Savior
will forever burn
as the night I birthed death,
and carried its quiet weight
through the orbit of our sun.

© 2025