Childless

Splintered oak.
Dust and lead.
Grains inside
your curves instead.

Limp dead webs
of spiders gone.
a breeze of surgeons
alcohol.

It hurts us somewhere
to see a child,
with some new mother, smile.

It hurts us somewhere.
Look away.
Collect the dolls and cats, and pray.

Rusted, broken.
Sad and raw.
What was so normal
is no more.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.