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I made purchase of this book, and I want to share one poem from it because I believe in its power.
The Light in my Window
i
I remember
the early years
of anticipation
imagining
how I would tell him
the good news
planning
a special supper
before the fire
choosing to tell him
at that moment
I lit the candle between us
picturing
on his face
joy and wonder.
ii
At the clinic
in Mullingar
our candle was snuffed.
In silence
we drove home
to mourn.
I opened
the wardrobe,
wore black clothes,
went to school:
smiled at my pupils,
talked to colleagues;
while a she-wolf
howled
across the tundra.
iii
We completed
application forms,
answered
intimate questions,
strangers
inspected our home.
iv
At last,
I discard
my black garb.
With strands of colour
plucked from the light in my window
weave a long flowing robe.
I open the door wide,
step outside
into a sun-bright garden
and I know
the four children
racing towards me
mine
beyond flesh
beyond blood.
It's beautiful, adoption is a blessing for many children
The best works of art come from the purest feelings. Thank you for telling me about this fact.
a great pain. I was just reading poetry by an Irish woman writing out of a similar pain. That collection of work is called Scuplture in Black Ice.
I think poetry is a place for pain to be exercised. Reading or writing. Reading your own thoughts on the page is healing. Writing them down hurts, but works.