Again that weary day when He must share
The wickedness of men who do not spare
Him birth. See now they penetrate His will,

My absent God does not disown
That timeless joy He lives alone;
He does not seek as once his own.

Once, quiet meant discord and pain;
My frantic mind willed hurricane
To blow away its disbelief,

i put on yr forgotten sweater
to cherish the cold breezes
that steal into my room

The shy gray sky races
over the gold bank bowl-dome

The word has long been out:
Hell is other people.

As if she smelled death in my clothes,
saw it in my walk

The wind blows chattering shreds of paper
against the backs of our legs.

The newborn fell asleep beside her mother who died in the early morning from a blood clot in her brain.
Quiet and lovely, Beth's death was a loss for millions of little girls.

Their bodies were found five miles apart in the kitchens of their homes.

I sat at the bedside,
as I’d seen my sister do.
I told him things
I never dreamed I knew.