When they called to tell me about you
my belly was full and round with new life.
I remember thinking at the time
that you will never again know the simple beauty
of the end of summer tomato
enjoyed beneath a drawn-tight curtain of blue sky.
I remember thinking of you-
the way you gave up almost by accident
And then, my belly became larger, yet motionless
just before he was born:
the quiet stillness signaling something.
Now, I look at my son’s long lean body,
bouncing with happiness,
and say a prayer that he will never know
the dark that consumed you.
That he will always remember
the simple pleasure of the end of summer tomato
and this will sustain him enough
to see spring burst
after the long quiet of winter.