Thursday, December 30, 2010


My Dad, your Dad, this is how they protect us. This is the warmth they give us. I wish you could have grown up with him. I wish that you could have become eachother.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

"songs I'd never learned"

Tonight has been for music. I will let this song speak for me.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Monday, December 13, 2010

The Tower

I remember this day last year. This Monday. It was the day I missed the appointment that may have possibly saved you. It is the day where all of my guilt returns. It is the day that I will wish I could repeat forever.

I remember this day last year. This Tuesday when we pre-registered at the hospital we hoped to welcome you to the world in. The same hospital that housed our tiny memorial for you. This is the last day I remember excitement and future.

I remember this day last year. This Wednesday when your movements faltered. How we tried to make you move. How your sister called your name on my belly, and we thought we felt you kick. We were satisfied that you were just sleepy. This is the day I learned never to just wait again.

I remember this day last year. This Thursday when I saw you on the screen so different than the image we had watched kicking and wiggling before. Your body had fallen, and I knew before the words. This is the day I saw your Daddy break. He couldn't catch you before your fall. We couldn't soothe your sister's silence.

I remember this day last year. This Friday of your birth. You were brought to my arms still warm from my body. I hoped with everything that you were playing tricks on us from inside. I wanted them to be wrong so badly. You were silent and soft. And you fit into my arms perfectly, but you didn't look up into my face. You never saw my face. This is the day we could not bring you home.

I remember these days. These days ever since. These days spent in this tower. A tower I've built, high up from my hopes. I look down on them and see them scrambling among the fallen leaves, flitting from flower to flower. I see my hopes from these windows. I see them hiding in the snow and dripping from the eaves. I see them and I wonder, "if they are my hopes, why can I not catch them?" and then I answer, "Frost was my hope, that is why." These are the days when my heart has become a wind that I am forever trying to hold.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Wednesday, December 8, 2010


I've been coming down with memories
the whats and whys of what happened
leave me wilted in winter
burnt by the snow

dark mornings are bright
with the same stars that foretold
but went unread

I've been drawing up a make believe profile
a nose set in stone
smelling the perfume
only angels can breathe

the wood of my dresser cracks
everyday it is older
it held the clothes of my mother and hers

I've been sleeping in questions
unanswered by pillows or night
I wake before the sun
so I will never find a hero

a baby is my hero
my rescuer
my life sent forth
to fill in the holes in the sky

a star went out that night

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

In the Air

So many people have been saying your name lately, baby. They don't know it's your name. But it's nice to hear Frost said out loud by people everywhere. At least we have your name.

Your kitty is lying on the bed next to me right now. He just sighed the way I want to. How do animals get through their days without worry? I so wish that this was possible for me. But if they do it by just forgetting the things that came before, then I could never be a cat. I could never forget the you that was here, and the love that you left with us.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Wednesday, December 1, 2010


This time is not supposed to come. A year is not supposed to happen this way. I should not have to measure your death. It should be your height, your weight, your new teeth. Each month you grew up away from me. A candle flicker is how I turn on a night light for you. A pebble in a rain puddle is how I give you a bath. A breath taken too deeply into my breast is how I feed you. I was looking for papers, I came across your clothes. Frost, you have clothes here on Earth. They are in a drawer and in a closet. They are crisp and new and sweetly miniature. They do not smell of newborn. They smell of cedar. The wood that preserves. But what good is the saving of something you never touched, never soiled, never slept in? What good is the preserving of my memory of buying the outfits when I thought that you would fill them, and play and kick and cuddle? I WANT TO SEE YOU WALK. I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY MAMA. I WANT TO FEEL YOU SQUEEZE MY HAND. I want to know if you can see me cry. I want to know if my crying hurts you. If it does, I will stop. I don't want to hurt you. Some days I do stop, and people are satisfied. When I don't stop, when I can't stop, people are taken back to not knowing what to do. It's seems so much easier to change a baby's diaper than to mend an injured soul. I miss you terribly tonight, because I know that I love who you would be.
Night, night Frost,
Mama loves you

Monday, November 29, 2010

Forget-me-nots, that's what I'll bring.

I used to go to the cemetary to visit my Father's grave and my Grandfather's grave. Now I find myself searching out the children who left too soon, long ago. I feel like they were there to welcome you to Heaven and so I visit them now to thank them for being your friends and to let them know that they are known.
This is the headstone of Harry, he would have been my Great-great uncle. His mother was Effie. I have seen pictures of her, I recognize her gaze. She is searching for a past that didn't have a future. My Mother has told me of how she almost named me after her because she liked the name Effie. I guess that I was meant to be her namesake in another way. Harry died when he was 2 days old.

Five years old.
People seemed to put more lilies and lambs on the graves of children. Cast in stone, a toy for them to sleep with, for always.

Some of the names I cannot make out due to the age of the stone, but I can see the age and the years, mostly.

I now the secret and the pain in their parents' hearts. "Make sure you remember their names" this statue seems to say.

Goldie. She must have been their light. Her parents' graves were right next to her's. When your Daddy or I die, whoever is the first, one of us will have you placed in our arms before the coffin is closed. We will stay with you.

Two children, I don't know if they were twins or not. Crumbled words.

These doves speak of peace without words. The moss speaks of time without life. I don't believe that there can be nothing.

I have seen this stone more than once. I have wondered why her's is so clear looking, it looks protected and tended, while others seem to have been forgotten.

Two one year olds from different years. At the top, above the dove it reads, "Darlings"

Four little ones all the same family, all different ages, all different years, I believe all girls. All gone. There are so many. Next spring, I will remember to bring flowers, the little stones haven't seen soft life for so long. I will bring petals and whisper your name. So many babies, are there enough Angels to hold all of you?
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Days When the Birds Fly Through You

Today is beautiful, like Spring. It is perfect for a song. What do you think of birds singing? And flying? They are whipped up with the delight of warm weather. And I, with the thought of no Winter. It is a name. So I make it big. Frost is a name, but many make it little. My feet are dancing through the close air now. The air that doesn't show itself, the air that falls around us as we sleep in our beds. The air that doesn't know you. The noise blends me into a pattern of smoothed up sand. Sand that the wind shaped. The same wind burns the skin. My skin is like the sand. Smooth to look at, ancient to feel. What is the sand under water? The sand in the ocean? The sand that doesn't know air. When it is brought to the surface does it feel the same as the dry desert sand? Babies come out of the ocean. They become what we are. You should know the air. Come back from dust with water and air. Look the same as the sand and move back to where I bring you. I couldn't let the snow cover you. The snow, like sand, in drifts collected by the air. I keep you in my room, where our air settles all around. We take it in, you have no lungs. The air adorns your bronze house. It touches you, soft, like piano keys. Can you hear the song the air plays for you? I cannot. But I think that when your breath went out it must have made a new home away from your body. I think that it is here and it falls all around us as we sleep in our beds. I cannot hear the song, but I feel it sometimes. You do not know the air, you are the air. And oh how I feel you.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


I sat under a tree today. I settled down into the Eastern cushion fashioned out of its crackling bark. It is a tree that I have known for years. A tree that I imitated in charcoal when I was twenty. It took me a moment to find it today. It had been awhile since my last visit. The tree has changed a bit in the last year. It is an old, old walnut. I saw no leaves as I walked up to it. Many parts of its trunk have grown hollow. it has dark, dark bark, and in places branches have fallen away to reveal the damaged heartwood. When I sat in the shrill shade of November I still found the warmth I remembered. Low to the ground, I found myself. I found the crispy leaves of many tree-families mingling together, blown by Autumn from their Mother trees. A wind would come up, they would touch and make music. A wind would come up and they would pass each other by. A dog ran through once, moving them as a favor to the wind. Scattering the leaves in a hurdy-gurdy way. Changing their course for just a moment.
When the wind picked up a chill tried to seep in, so I moved to the Southern lump of root. Perched myself and basked in the low sun of late Fall. I tried to lean back into the tree's trunk, but one sharp poke of bark protested my ease. I looked to the ground again. Squirrels had presented so many offerings of acorns to the walnut tree, that for a moment I almost believed that my friend had become an oak. The burl in the root told me otherwise. My own hair matched that burl as it swirled in the wind. Coils of it meandered in front of my eyes, trying to hide the secrets of the wood from my view. Two leaves escaped a nearby pin oak. As I glanced up, they danced together all the way to the dingy grass, only to be separated upon landing.
I moved to the Western throne of roots, it was lower still. The man with the dog passed again. He had been circling. I wondered if he wanted the tree too. If he would have stopped I would have told him your story Frost. Sometimes I long to tell strangers about you. I daydream about having such conversations. Nobody came, nobody asked.
I moved to the chill Northern side. Shallow roots practically plunged me into the earth. I felt the cool of the moss through the thick fabric of my clothing. I waited for what I deserved. On the cool side I looked out in front of me. I saw the tree's shadow stretched long. Majestic, how I remembered it. The shadow didn't show the broken pieces. The exposed core was hidden in the shadow. The shadow had preserved my memory. The memory of a twenty year old before she became a mother. The tree had remembered me.
I stood and watched my own shadow play with the memory. I took a piece of walnut shell from the ground and heard the chatter of a squirrel. I paused and looked to the animal. Her teats showed me that she was a mother also. I spoke your name to her and I knew she understood.
I walked away to other callings. I returned with your sister. We saw the squirrel again, she was sitting in the hollow of the walnut tree chittering towards the heartwood. I know that she was telling the tree your name. I didn't tell your sister the truth, I just let her laugh and chase.
I will be coming back to the tree on your birthday. The tree knows you now, and I told the tree I would be coming. Maybe it will invite both of us to sit together under its branches and listen to its old, old memory.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Monday, November 1, 2010

Maybe you were dressed up as an auburn leaf or the harvest moon

We walked, we watched, we wore disguises. Yesterday was Halloween and you had no mask. As we ambled along with countless trick-or-treaters asking for candy and compliments on costumes, I noticed the tiny costumes. Babies were everywhere. There were baby dogs, baby zombies, baby hot dogs, baby kitties, baby presidents, even baby superheros. They looked about from their parents' arms, wondering at the strangeness that would become an annual festivity in the years to come. There was no way I could dress you up for your first Halloween, Frost, and I'm not sure what you would have been. So this year I focused everything on your sister's outfit. I think that we did an extra good job this year. She was a flapper. A woman from the 1920's, I think that she looked very chic and played the part well. We visited our old neighborhood, it always gives me a comfort to go back there and reminisce about the days that I used to dress-up. I think that Hadley can feel that comfort through me. I wish that I could have taken you there. I guess that I did last year when you were still in my belly. Could you feel the happiness? I hope so.
I'm looking around at all the decorations in the house right now. It's time to change them, it's time to put away the jack-o-lanterns and skeletons. It's time to bring out the turkeys and cornucopias. After that, bells and angels. And then it will be winter. The winter is what I'm dreading, I don't know if I can face that cold again.
Now I know what your costume is, Sweetie, you're the blanket that will have to keep me warm through all of this cold. You are essential.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Carrara Marble

I've been watching faces lately. I have looked at so many faces and I am amazed at how many different ways beauty can present itself. I saw one girl today, just a flash of her, and I thought to myself that her face must be perfection. The proportion, the shape, the twitch of her smile, everything went together just right. When I thought that beauty could not out do itself, there came the most awesome nose. The boy that wore it showed it off nicely, his face protected it. Beauty, one right after another, so many combinations. So many choices. I've learned to appreciate, rather than become jealous of all of the beauty. There are infinite ways to put together a face, so maybe in the construction of my own, a bit of charm may have snuck in. I think it must have because I have seen it in my children.
I have learned that I can't have everything. I find myself reaching for somethings though, the things that I thought life guaranteed me. Namely, you. I thought that you were a guarantee because I would have been a good mother to you. I thought that because I found beauty in you from the day I learned you were here, that you would be mine forever. Beauty doesn't last. Beauty has to breathe. One has to catch it as soon as they find it. One must memorize beauty.
I wonder everyday how beauty would have put itself together in your little face. I wonder at the smile we never saw, and how your eyes may have squinted when you laughed. I wonder if you would have blushed when you received your first Valentine. I wonder what kind of instrument your voice would have been. What song would have bloomed in my heart as you cooed, Frost? I think about the tilt of your head as you looked into the pages of your first book. A beautiful roundness, long eyes downcast, chubby fingers turn pages too fast, excitement and "ohhhs" and "hahas!" Even though I only saw you asleep, I still wonder at your breathing sleep. Little ball? Stretched out arms? Kicking feet? How would you rest? How would you feel the world, Frost? Beautifully, I know you would.
I wonder why I am allowed to see the faces of so many strangers, when the one that owns half of my beauty was frozen in an instant and turned to ash. I have to be my own sculptor and carve and polish my dreams of the beautiful life you would have had. I will work on this my entire life.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Monday, October 18, 2010


I let myself wail today. I needed to and no one was home to be upset by my sadness. I let my sadness crawl through the entire house like a shadow. I let it leave me through tears, through sounds, through grasping fingers. I curled and slept after I spent all of the energy my body had changed into hardness. It wasn't a dark hardness, it was a maternal hardness. It was the ache at not being able to protect my child. My arms! Oh how my arms are hurting! I feel like my tusks have been removed, like my wings have been clipped, like my very skin has been replaced with paper. I cannot feel like an entire person ever again. You have been ripped from me, from my arms. They are empty arms. They need to hold you and only you Frost. I remember the feeling from holding your sister as an infant, it was like that was all I had ever needed. To hold my own baby soothed me as much as it took away her cries. I feel the winter coming on and I am frightened. I don't want to feel those stabs again. Invisible knifes were words and I felt all of the blood rush from my body. I felt a coolness invade me when they said "I'm so sorry." I was starting to warm up again, but now I feel it coming back. Part of me will never work again.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Ten months

Frost and his friends were up in the sky
playing and diving and learning to fly.
They hopscotched on clouds and swung from the stars,
kicking a ball that was most likely Mars.
What cherubs they were in curls and in cheeks.
they danced in the shine of heaven's high peaks.
They were promises and love and once boys and girls,
and now from their tower they watch over the world.
The world in its splendor, the world in its shame.
To both of these worlds they give their kind game.
The curiosity of youth and the discovery of time,
have passed through their hands out to the sublime.
They know things we don't. They cry tears of peace
which fall to the earth and feed every leaf,
every flower, every tree, everything made.
Every parent who broke, every baby that stayed.
Today and far more, I want to give back a gift.
One that gives freely and goes with the shift
of the wind on an easy fall day.
A day that reminds me that each sunray
Finds one person to warm, one person to bathe
in the spirit of so much of what life is made.
And so to the sun and the sky I do send
A balloon to the child who once held my hand.
It's the closest I can get to him, my postcard to the sky.
On it I have written to the baby who died.
Frost and his friends were up in the sky
cheering and grabbing at all of the balloons flying by.
"Frost, this golden one must be yours, look here it comes!"
He reached out and grabbed it, reading "Love Mom".

This is the only thing I could do today. I hope that you caught it.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

What if the water was too hot? I worry about that.

There is a space that the water needs to find.
I change my direction, willing the drops to sooth the watery tread along my back.
I hold my mouth just far enough from the spray,
kissing the shapes I've formed out of the pressure.
I tuck into the heated rain,
letting my spine wrap itself into my ribs,
into my chest,
into my heart.
The warmth is so much a part of me now.
I look down and see red.
I sprawl my fingers across the porcelain,
as the angry pool twists my edges into flattened breaths.
I sink in like I did.
Sound changes itself in my ears.
I am hollow now.

Fog without the moor

I'm a little bit lost right now. The plan I had made for my life included you. Now that cannot happen, so what do I do instead? I look for importance in simple things. I try to impress and seem interesting. Not so many things have come to me since you left. I wish that there was something that could fill my heart as much as you, Frost. I can't remember what was important to me when I was little. I remember having my feelings hurt, I remember being hurt and worried. I remember trying to please. I remember observing. Is that living? I can remember laughing with others and having fun with others, but I feel like that fun was created by them. What did I bring to their lives? I don't know because they have never told me. Sometimes I draw back and then I become fearful that more time will be wasted. That is when I go too far. What do I do? What do I do?
One morning, driving, I came upon a fog. It drifted around me like a ghostly mane. drawn out by the wind into neverending strands. I wondered why it only existed in this part of town. Not over there, only here. My lights dug through the fog's thickness. They fell upon one spot in the mist at the end of a street I had never travelled down in my life. The spot had a glow about it, it floated above everything else. It had a pulse and its light was for me. It wanted me to see it, it called to me with thoughts of you. I lingered in hopes of adding a sign from you to my collection. But I didn't turn down that street and go to it, for fear of being late. I missed out on you because of life. I have to find a time for us when life doesn't matter.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Gilded Snickerdoodle

I was thinking to myself earlier today, and I took my own breath away. I started asking you in my head what you wanted me to tell you about. I whispered out loud 'What do you want mama to tell you, Frost?" Nobody else heard me, I was away from them. I knew this, so I asked you again. Words kept creeping out of me. Soft squeaks, sounds unaccustomed to air. I let the weight of the words pull my head down. Nobody saw me. I looked at what my hands were doing. Making cookies. I shattered at the thought that you would never know cookies. I took myself away from them. I watched the corner for something so plain that I would not be saddened by the fact that you would never see it. The stained plastic bucket, the stained plastic wall, the broken tile. You wouldn't have become a great man through the influence of these things. I settled my eyes on them, and their lack of beauty settled my heartbeat.
But what if the the bucket had been a beautifully crafted basket, twined by a Hopi woman long ago? What if the wall had been a lost fresco from Pompeii? And the broken tile, one of Byzantine splendor? What then, Frost? You missed my day today, my slow world, my plain world. Even though my life is not exciting, I would have loved to have seen the exaltation in your face the first time you ever had a cookie. Those are the days that real lives are made for.
It wasn't until later that I tried to share this part of my day with one other. I gave hints and the wrong questions were asked. So the time stayed between me and you. I have to remember this.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Lonely Rosie

Hadley told me something today. She said that today at recess she did not play with the other children. Today she did something else. She told me how she walked around the tree singing songs to you. She took my hand when she told me and looked at me and smiled. Her smile was genuine, so I know that her songs must have been. I worried for her a bit. I don't know why. She was doing what she wanted. Just the same, she is my baby too, and I don't want her to be alone. That feeling is one I am quite versed in. Everyone leaves no matter what. I get caught up in the changes that people go through. Your sister is so like me, but she is so much more confident. For that I am grateful.
What did she sing to you, Frost? She wouldn't tell me her lyrics. Secret between the two of you I suppose. That makes me happier than you will ever know.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

The Old Bathroom

This morning I was thinking of the way my mom used to put her hair up on both sides when I was little and we lived in a different town. I decided I would be like the old her today. I used different clips than she did of course. Hers are long gone. I remember watching her get ready for work from my room, the bathroom was right next to it. I remember the wicker shelf that we kept toiletries on. Long gone now. I remember her leaning into the mirror, checking the pattern of her face. She still does this. I remember the cast iron bathtub that I fell on when I was 10. I still keep the memory of the blood gushing from my nose. But the claw feet of the tub are long gone. The bump remains. I remember bits of the wall paper. Old-timey ad campaigns. Torn away long ago. I can trace the Moorish arches of the antique gas heater over and over again. White and red hot, the ceramic radiants made me wonder about far away places before I ever knew that there was a land named Morocco where windows look like sharp petals seeking out the sun. Those pieces long ago became dust. I remember the piece of me that was washed away in that bathroom. My baby tooth, I don't know which one, whirled away down the drain of the sink as I prepared it for the tooth fairy. That night I left a note of pleading and explanation in its place. The money, tooth, and note are all long gone. Now I remind your sister to cover the drain with a towel before her tooth becomes lost along with mine. Everytime a tooth falls out we remember my mistake together. I did not like the style of the bathroom floor. I am glad that it is long gone. The bathroom had two doors with old handles, I remember the sound of them closing and opening. I don't remember knocking then. My sense of urgency is long gone. I can wait Frost.
These things gave me memories. These things left my life. I don't know if these things gave me happiness or not. They've just become things that I have stashed away even though time tried to trick me into thinking they were long gone. Time isn't always so crafty.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Birth Stones

We walked away from the uneven coast,
and fell upon a trap of splintering forest.
The most we watched that day
the dapple-down sea.
that could forgive our face
and just walk away.
And now the meteor tears at my cool skin.
It tells me lies,
It says to go and jump in.
Into the wish that we would no longer give.
Into the treetops, through the chlorophyll's grid.
Back on the ground.
Back on the wall.
Back on the red, crisp blood
Discovering all.
All of the motion and the forced ocean's face.
All of the stop an go, and all of the haste.
I take it with me
til I can't make a mark.
Can't set the pace,
can't hear the morning's soft dark.
She called me back to her
with lights and with wings.
She told me just to sit and she would bring,
to me and to the world just what we need.
That liquid heated by the heart of a seed.
I had a needle and it wanted to sew.
Sew through the afterthoughts, but not through the glow.
It wanted mending.
It wanted no holes.
And in doing so
I lost my own breath.
My soul with it was washed
and hung in the sun.
Just like the shadow
of my topaz blue son.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Crashed and some words

Mommy's got that emptied out feeling again. Like the cold open chest cavity feeling that I can never cut away. I can't fill it. I've tried. The wide open sky is too elusive, even when the clouds are heavy with rain. Moonbeams dance around far too skillfully for my loneliness to catch and use them as a mask. Conversation doesn't stitch up my wound, I say the wrong thing and the sutures I attempted fall out. Sometimes little trickles of pleasure seep into me, but they escape by the end of the night. I never go to bed with the hope I used to feel for the tomorrows I have stocked up. That is where my crashed open chest heaves. Night-time is supposed to hide our flaws. My night-time flays them wide open. I must shine like the moon in the dark, all exposed for everyone to see. Clouds rush up to cover me, but the waves of my sorrow creep around them. Over and over again I try to remedy my soul. Over and over again something tells me I can't. I don't want to be a display for people to wonder at anymore. I just want to be a woman again.

When you're lost,
see how lucky you are.
So long. So leave.
Don't you like when you're free?
and young enough to be King.
Only she can seal your coffin shut.
Don't you hurry to speak.
Once a wise owl had watched
As you walked in your sleep.
And your crash can be healed.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Nine Months

I saw moon-rays tonight. The light pressed through the clouds, which seemed the silhouette of wings. I stood in the minutes disguised as hours, unmoving and tear-stained. My lips called out the only name I felt might hear me in the dark in the middle of the country road. I called out the name "Daddy". I whimpered the name over and over. "Daddy, show me why." I knew his voice once upon a time, so I tried to listen for it. I stood in the street, no headlights came to interrupt the soapy glow. On the flat open surface I felt closer to the moon, I felt that my questions were more likely to be answered there. The moon has seen my mistakes, the moon has pierced my heart, the moon has curled my smiles. The moon has been many faces to me, tonight, Frost, on the day that you would have been 9 months old, the moon was my Father again. I was looking for his protection, his guidance. I was nailed to the blacktop, I would not move until something was given to me in return for my questions. Not an answer, just something that wasn't only a trick of the eye. I asked where do you go? why don't any of my dead people get to show me something of themselves? why don't I get a visit? why does this happen? and what have you become? Nothing. I stood longer, looking to the constant tumble of lightning opposite the moon. There were electricities all around me. I tried to feel them to become more aware. To tune into the things I thought I had been missing. Nothing but pretty cloud shadows and pops of dull reddish light. I had to go at that moment. I walked back toward the house, toward the unnatural light. The house behind me, not my own, in which we believe we have glimpsed the spirit of a man walking a burdensome path. A ghost, more than three people have caught striding out of the corner of their eye. I wondered then, when I thought of the ghost man, if maybe you had been caught up in his path, maybe he grabbed you out of spite, perhaps out of duty. Did our little spot in the world have a Divine purpose? At that, a coyote made its presence known, its howl was deep and soothing not haunting. I was thankful, I was relieved, all of my tears had gotten me somewhere. I had been heard! I had my answer. And what I took it to be was that we go back to the Earth. We belong to its energy, no matter our plans. This is where I find you. In the trees where the coyote hides. In the coyote's throat, longing to escape. In the moonshine that drives the coyote's frenzy. And in my tears that take their salt from the sea. You move in the tides and the pull of the moon, you are all around me. You are the connection to the breath of whom some call God. Through you I will listen, through myself I will hear. You are my gift. You are my place in the world.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Skipped Pages

Her bookshelf bows with the weight of words. The middle constantly sags, no matter how the tombs are rearranged. Rich texts are put on the ends, light reading sits in the middle. No matter, the wood drags itself down. It needs some sort of support. It needs some boy stories. There are a few that are entertaining to all, but no youthful, masculine wit exists there on her shelves. Should I remove Alice in Wonderland and slip in Robin Hood? What would your favorite be? Treasure Island? I don't know, I never read it. I wonder what we would have read together. Which hero would you have imagined yourself to be, Frost? Harry Potter or the clever Fox from Aesop's Tales? Maybe the Tortoise who won the race. People sometimes become their stories. Since you couldn't be here, maybe I should make you into a story so that you can be known and take your place upon a shelf with characters who lived the most exciting lives ever to be made up. If a Genie can come out of a lamp, you can be reborn.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010



A pile formed in a corner,
there it was before you.
It was left, and it was not gorgeous,
it still is.
You are not.
The remains of my thoughts
heap up and become furniture for the dust
to rest its weary bones.
Why couldn't I become a rocking chair instead,
to ease your cries and random plays?
My baby has gone.
I eek out in slumber,
and feel for fleshy, soft futures
so quietly stripped.
Morning arrives, as it has for years,
only now, hope is not its companion.
I weep for their separation,
and prosper in the lines
drawn between wishes and doubt.
Smudged out by the back of my hand,
traded for the charcoal's solid voice,
A line, made so deliberately,
Lost too easily.
My hands hold the back of my neck,
trying to force a truth.
One I can't make on paper.
One I can't find in words.
A truth taken.
A perfect line.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

The Green Oval Rug

I have a floor, a wooden floor, a carpeted floor. I'm looking at the reflection of it, at the soft of it. I see what it is missing. A baby crawling, a baby falling. Sitting up and reaching for the other baby things on my floor. The wood grain in the planks ring around and make stripes. There is no ring-around-the-rosie. I don't get to dance while holding a baby this time. Your sister and I had so much fun doing this. She would squeal and I would laugh and dip her until the fun of spinning took over. We made up songs for eachother, sang them loud when no one else was around. Today is the kind of day that I would have done those things with you. I'm missing you today. I don't have anything else to do. I try and say to myself that I have plenty to keep me busy, that I need to get this or that finished before some imaginary deadline. But really all I need to do is spend the day playing on the floor with you.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Sunday, September 12, 2010


Sometimes all I do is worry. I like to pretend that I am not, so I make jokes and watch people laugh at my voices. Me laughing with them is a cover. I do it until it doesn't work anymore. It's like changing sides in my sleep til I can get back to the good dream I was having, it never works. The dream is always changed. There is an interruption. The first time I hear a song is always better that the second. I hate it when a song has a very promising beginning and just ends up being so disappointing. That's what I'm doing right now, I'm trying to find a song to match the day. One I haven't heard before, one where the musicians have captured the moment for me. So far, no one has. The beginnings are close, but then I realize that the song's creators must have been having a different day than me when they wrote the song, so I just haven't gotten a match yet.
There was just a loud sound in the house, I should take the time to go investigate it. I don't want to, I'm angry with the sound for interrupting my thoughts. I feel like I've been interrupted quite a bit since I was born. Sometimes I talk myself into believing that the interruptions are what I was looking for. I've given hours to looking at leaves and blossoms with blemishes. I've spent minutes wondering at the anatomy of a crumpled pillow. My eyes have dwelt upon to shadows of my mirrored face for years. If I had all those times back, I would spend them on recognising that you were faltering inside my womb. I would find the evil twist in my body and will it to unravel. Why didn't I have that power? Why didn't the beginning of you dying interrupt my day before you were totally gone, Frost? I couldn't feel my own baby perishing, but I can pick a butterfly from a spider's web before the poison sinks in. I don't understand. The plans I made for myself as a child have all gone away.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Nostalgia For What Can Never Be

There hasn't been anything new for a while now. Nothing that I have learned. I haven't used my time wisely. I am just following the days as I always have. I am here.
I watched our cat listen to the season change yesterday. He heard the first howls of Autumn's wind through a tiny space in the window. His ears rotated toward it before any other part of his body. His head followed at the second whistle. His eyes grew larger. He is just now a year old, this is the first fall he will remember. He is taking it in and adding to his pattern. As the wind continued to serenade him, he forced his legs down into the bed, lifting his torso, and padding across to the window. He watched until he was satisfied that the change would not disturb his world too much. Then he licked his paw with acceptance and returned to his warm spot on the bed's farthest corner. Curled into a contented shape, his new discovery only showed itself in the occasional twitch of the ear and squint of the eye.
I wonder if the cat was amazed by the changing of the world? He didn't show it the way I know you would have, Frost. I know that your little eyes would have questioned the wind's whoosh, and I would have given you the words for it. I would have said "The wind is blowing kisses to the trees", and we would have watched the leaves dance and drift to the ground. Your sister would have brought you the brightest orange leaf for you to crunch in your little hand. I would have made it disappear like magic right before your little mouth could find it. Hadley would have made jokes in the raked piles for you to laugh at, and the next year you would repeat them to her, when you were old enough to run and crash into one of childhoods' greatest treasures. Your Daddy would have held you up to the deepening sun and watched you shine in its glow. He would have told you how to play tricks on your sister and me. The two of you would have kept man secrets. You would have made your own traditions and we would have all shared in them together.
In between seasons there is a certain breath in the air that speaks of change and memory. It is a reminder that we are part of the cycle, part of something. You have a place here, I've kept it for you.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Running through snowy streets yelling Merry Christmas

I listened to a song this morning and the lyrics began "I wish to Lord I'd never been born, or died when I was young." It made me mad. it went on to say how awful life was because the girl chose someone else over the singer. Well boo-hoo, I don't want to hear words like these. It reminded me of It's A Wonderful Life, the movie when Jimmy Stewart wishes he had never been born because his life has gotten too difficult. He gets to see what would happen if he had never been. Obviously it is worse without him. I know that my life is worse without you. I want the movie to show it the other way. I want the one who didn't get to live to have the chance to. If you wish hard enough maybe we can see how life would have been if you did get to live here. I want the song to say I wish to Lord that I had been born so that I could know the pain of love. So that I could feel the kiss of another. It breaks me up inside knowing that my baby will never get to fall in love and have children. I hurt for your absence, you dwell in an alien world. I want you to know what a papercut feels like, a burn, to be scratched by a pet cat, to cut teeth. I want you to know all of these pains because they come with hugs and kisses, fingers that wipe away tears. They come with the hum of an old tune, with back rubs and rocking in old chairs. All of the pain comes with love, but only if yoour person is there to share it with you.
How can I sooth you? I guess you don't need me to, since you are not here where everything hurts so deeply. I wish you could sooth me. You are a guardian angel, show me what life would have been like if my son had lived. We might hear a bell ring.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Eight Months

I feel like I almost saw you yesterday. It was in the silliest place, really. In my exercise class, at the end, we relax in the dark. The instructor speaks to us, calming us and slowing us down. We close our eyes and feel the complete calm of the moment. We are supposed to still our minds and focus on what is now. The feeling is very powerful. I let go of my tension and flow into my thoughts. I see shapes in the middle of my mind. I see a shadowy portrait, a silhouette. I see flashes and feel a shape come to my left side, the side of my womb where you liked to curl up. I try to stay there longer and zero in on the details. I try to mold the shadow into a baby. I want to remain there, I feel myself rise up a bit to try and reach out to the familiarity. I feel tears slide from my eyes to the floor, creating a bond with the physical. Her words bring me back too soon. I roll over, away from the now that I want. I will continue going for the chance to glimpse a part of you that I saw eight months ago today.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Shopping Cart Friend

I was caught off guard today. A little boy got to me. Other little boys showed up before and after him, I did not react to them. The boy was blond and interested. He had light eyes, blue or green, not like you. I kept my distance, I could feel something building. He was with his grandparents. He was curious, he was chubby. He was two or so. I was fine until he spoke. He pointed to a toy car and said "bipiple, byp-ciple!" He wanted the toy, he was learning to communicate, he was becoming himself. His voice was a kind, soft voice, and when I heard it I felt as though I was hearing you. That was when my composure fell away. I had been holding in the emotion so well lately. The boy gave it the power it needed to break free of my silly attempt at jailing it. I went away from him and thought that I had expelled all of the tears. I returned to my spot, his grandparents were lingering, so I watched him some more. I thought that I could be more thoughtful this time and try to notice the things about him that were not you. He was far away from you in looks and age, but something struck me to my soul, and I could not fathom what it was. I'll keep this feeling with me for a while the way I always do and then I'll let it go. I can't even really remember his face right now. All I know is that he had a calmness about him. I think that is what I needed and why I cried. Because I was so grateful for what was maybe a little clue into who you would have been.
When I came home today a blue and black butterfly flew infront of me and landed on the holly bush by the front door. It was strong and flew well despite the jagged piece torn from one of its wings. It rested for a bit, then lifted its body and flitted off around the corner of the house. I think I saw my heart fly up to me today. Tiny things can be so huge. I wish I had a picture.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Empty Pillow

I imagined as hard as I could that you were wiggling around on the bed earlier while Hadley and I read. All I could pull up were tears. No chubby little face or grabby little hands pulling at kitty feet came into my mind. There
were no big eyes to smile at or that smiled up at me. No kicks or tumbles. No made up words whose only meaning is love. No piggies went to market, no cows jumped over the moon. Perhaps you've become the little boy who lived up the lane. Nobody sees him but they know he is there because he was given a bag of wool. When I read nursery rhymes from now on I'm going to change them. I'm going to insert your name into the spots where the word boy is. I can if I want too. And I think your sister will like it. I'm ready for a dream of you, maybe could I have one? A dream that gives me a peek at what you would look like now. So that maybe, on days like today, I could have a sweeter picture.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Spelled Out

Seeing your name spelled out gives me comfort. It proves to me how real you are. You own your name, just as you own my heart. It is good to see it in places, it is like you are stepping up and saying "hi". Frost I am forever looking for you, when I see your name I have something more to hold on to.

This image was drawn by a woman named Carly who lives far away from where we are. She has an angel baby too. His name is Christian, and it is his beach upon which your name has been written along with the names of so many other sweet little ones. Thank you to Carly for sharing Christian's beach with us, and for giving us the gift of seeing our baby's name in such beauty.

Your name is Frost. We gave it to you, and you gave us so much more.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Monday, July 26, 2010


Time was torn up this week, into little pieces here and there. Bits were exalted, massive amounts were wasted. Whether creating or lounging, you were there with me. In my head as I baked, I stirred you in to cookies. In the garden as I tended, my tears for you softened the earth. The fruits have grown up, they are almost full-term. As I lay on my side, curled inside of a pain, you were there. You are always there, drying the tears that living eyes no longer see.
Many of the shreds of time this week were spent watching and that is all. What I saw was this. One leaf caught the wind differently than the rest and it became my favorite. One dragonfly sat where the others would not. Like a bird, it perched upon a wire. Resting its wings in the manner of its greatest foe. One girl sang a song the others did not know. She was okay with being alone. I tried to make time fun for her. We smiled together.
One breath was deeper than the rest. I felt it push me into the ground, down with the cool thought that winter had shaped and kept safe for me. My greatest fear. My greatest truth. My greatest loss. These are all the same. You are gone. I can't tear away time enough to forget, nor do I want to. You stay with me in the pieces.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

I Want Them to Know How Real You Were (picture of my baby Frost - you don't have to look)

I'm sorry if this is too difficult an image for some eyes.

Frost, I want to show you to people so badly. I don't know if this is the right thing to do. For me right now I think it is what I need to do. I am being selfish. This is the only time I will do this. I love you too much not to show you. I can't stop thinking about who you would have become.

I'm going to write something now to take up space before your picture.

The sky was made of Renaissance colors today. I had seen this morning's clouds in a painting in an art history book years before. Not in a museum in a foreign country, I am not that fortunate. But today I walked under it, today I felt it, as if I were far away and years apart. I walked under the past this morning.
A cricket circled in on itself in front of me. The two birds that had picked off one of the insect's legs, had left the remainder as they scrambled away from my jutting footsteps.
I went inside, the light was no longer that from the brush of a 16Th Century Italian Master. It was harsh and a reminder.
I saw another bug on the linoleum. This time a beetle. It turned its head as a cat would and looked to my feet, no longer jutting. I stood still as the insect chose its path. It scurried off in a straight line.
I continued to my destination. Niceties were exchanged and I went back the way I had come.
I returned to the hall, the beetle was still walking. This time I noticed that it was dragging one of its back legs. I wondered how many times it would travel in the same direction today. Did it know where it was supposed to be? Where it was going?
When a part of one is injured, one seems to repeat a motion over and over. Therapy, I guess.
I went out the door. First, I noticed the two birds. One, or both, had collected on their interrupted meal. Second, I noticed that the sky had given way to the blue of mid-day too early. Only one monarch of a cloud, poised opposite the sunrise, had remained in the colors of the past. The past of 500 years ago. The past of five minutes before.
I drove by the place where a boy died 13 years ago. My brother's friend. All that remains in the spot where he died is a white scar on the trunk of a tree where his car struck fast. And two reflectors on the wooden fence to warn eyes in the night. These are the only markers of his sad end. People driving by know nothing.
No one will ever know about these creatures if I don't tell about them right now before I forget. Their reason, I still do not realize.
A bug was trapped inside a hospital, what purpose could it serve outside of its natural ecosystem.
A cricket was eaten before it could chirp, the birds made a sport of his life.
A boy let go of caution and sped into a tree. The next day it was said that he was to be a father. His son grew up without him.
I will tell your story forever Frost. I don't have to hurry because I will never forget.
A baby died inside of his Mother. All twisted up in his life line. He had a face, he had a body, he had toes and fingers. He had our blood. He had eyes. And yet he never saw a sunrise in the sky, or in a painting.

Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Summer Years Ago

It's Summertime Frost. The world is bright with heat, there is water for splashing in, and baby birds learn to fly. I have been taking life slow. I have been reading and enjoying the work of others, letting them guide my thoughts. It's easier. Right now I need easy. When the pain comes up I fall into it so deeply. So I'm trying for easy hoping that the pain isn't triggered. This is why I've had a hard time writing lately. I've wanted to smile and feel the way I did before all of the death.
The first death I remember was my grandfather's when I was six. He died in the summer on his birthday. I remember going to the funeral home for the visitation and touching his hand and it being as cold as I had ever felt. I remember crying with everything I had. I remember the loss. I also have a false memory of the time, something that I remember that is not possible. My parents did not think that I should go to the funeral because of how upset I got when I saw him in his coffin. So I stayed at my Grandma and Grandpa's house. The false part of my memory is that I remember being there with my Grandma during the funeral. Of course she was not with me, she was at the cemetary putting her husband in the ground. I think that I painted this false memory for myself to make things easier. I don't know what older person was really with me, but when I remember it in my thoughts it is always my Grandmother.
The deaths continued and the pain of them got harder and so it became harder for me to make them easier. My Dad and you. Not easy at all, Frost.
So tonight I'm going to do something easier because it's a way for me to be close to you, I like to think that you are watching me and know what I say and think, and believe that all the good in it is for you.
I found this piece of old paper in a box in the basement, I wrote it when I was in highschool. I don't remember what I was thinking at the time. Maybe you have an idea.
One night I wrote Carthage on my foot,
And then I built a little house.
In the house, two children lived.
The children were different.
One with eyes of purest charcoal,
Yet in shadow, neon.
The other's were black also, yet collected light secretly, as a prism does.
Their home, a huge window, was carpeted with pith and dying ferns.
The foliage was trapped in shapes that resembled both lofty parlors and the humblest of shacks.
It was the craft of Gods, and angrily they played games of nothings in the soft of the moss.
It was ornamented only by two forms.
Each looming distant and strange.
One was the stream, a horrendous waking pool.
A shrinking curve.
The second, an art of the simplest form.
Two points and a smear, the unprotected door.
And there the children played, waking each day anew.
Their soft snouts breathe with every sound,
And toss about, through cheek and bone.
They tell no stories, nor hear of pain.
They only sleep, in seeming and sensuous crowns.

The easiest thing for me in the world is to believe that I knew of you and your sister before you were named.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Friday, June 18, 2010

6 months

Today, all day, I just kept thinking that I needed to find something to give you, something special. I know that if you were here I would have given you a little toy or something for your six month birthday. It would have probably been a fuzzy stuffed animal that you could put in your mouth or hold with your feet the way your sister did. How I would have loved to see your grabby little hands take it and grip your new discovery like you had just invented a touchable cloud. We would have celebrated today, Frost. Instead, I tried to block my anger at everything normal. I wanted to cry all day, but I didn't. I tried to smile at other's jokes. I was able to walk today, though at times I felt invisible. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts of you that I'm sure that no one else was able to see me.
I saw things too. There was a yellow balloon on the ceiling at work early this morning before many people were there. I noticed it. A little while later, I saw that it had gone to the floor. It's string only touched the ground while it floated above. It was as though someone had brought it down and was holding it. It hesitated near me. I stooped to pick it up and rested my hand on the loop where a child's hand should be. I imagined holding your tiny fingers, tickling them and calling you mine. I put the balloon in a space, if it is there tomorrow I will bring it home. If it is not, I will know that you had to go on.
Once again, a song has brought to me the words I need for you. I heard it this morning in the dark, driving. This happens quite a bit. I had heard this song before but not the same way. Today it was more

Frost, you did get a gift, do you know what it is? You got to be born again right away. I don't know where you were born again, maybe here, maybe heaven, maybe only in dreams, but you do have a new life. Many people spend their lives wishing they could do things over, wishing they could be young again, wishing they knew things before they happened, wishing to be born again. You, my baby, never have to wish this. I do. I wish that you could be born again from me. I wish that we could give this gift to eachother.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Barefoot on Wires

The storm woke me up from my nap this afternoon. It was strong and gray. It knocked against my window until I sat up. I decided to go downstairs and check the news to see what warnings were out about the weather. There were many warnings for many places. Floods, flash floods, winds, even the standard suggestion of a tornado. I watched out the window and hoped that the power didn't go out. If we loose power the basement floods, and I told God that the flood was just for you and that it can't happen again. The last time power went out it was in the middle of the night and I started to get angry and I cried out "no, no, no It's Frost's flood, you can't take that away!" and the power came back just in time. I was thankful then. The power only flashed today, it did not go out. I was thankful then.
The storm moved on, I waited. I tried to smudge away the red that was poison ivy dotting my knees. It didn't itch, it just burned. I waited. I read for a while, I've been reading quite a bit lately. About lives that never were, but could have been. I waited. I watched your sister read and get so excited about a story she knew but had never read herself. It was new to her even though the plot was very familiar. As she read each word off the page, I watched it become a piece of her. I waited. The sun came out and out I went.
I was waiting for the sun to come out. I sloshed through the water-logged yard to the back to the garden. I was barefoot and the water had collected itself in perfect little puddles in the grass. Clear water and grass cooled and cushioned my feet like little pillows filled with childhood memories. I looked around at what the storm had awakened. Birds. Birds were everywhere. On the telephone line above the garden several species perched and watched. Brown thrasher, cardinal, Robin,
Turtle doves (always in a pair), barn swallow, Mocking bird and Sparrow. I watched them too. I listened to the freshly clensed air. I heard a soft chirpping. I stepped to the bluebird house. The babies were inside, not bluebird babies but sparrow babies. The sparrow always beats the bluebird to the house every year. I listened to the babies calling to their parents, and then I heard a louder chirpping. The father bird was calling back to them and yeling at me at the same time. I realized I was making him uncomfortable, so I moved away. I looked up to the wire and it seemed that all of the birds were watching me. Some chirpped, some squawked, some whistled, some sang. Each had a different warning for me and assurance for their children. I knew that it was late spring and the babies were learning to fly. These birds were watching them, watching over their children, hoping for the best. I had interrupted. I thought about it for awhile, and I think they decided to allow me to watch. I watched and realized that the birds are different than humans in that they don't fawn over the choice of whether or not to have a baby. It is their only purpose, it is what they live for. It is why they have a dance, it is why they have a song, it is why they learn to hunt, it is why they build a nest. To have their babies, the birds sit and wait. They warm and protect. They do not have doctors. They fight off intruders and winds. They teach and feed. They let go. They loose babies every spring, eggs fall, cats strike, humans shoot. When you don't have a choice, does it still hurt? I think that it must, and they have passed down the pain through ages of song. I listen to the birds' song differently now, Frost.
Night, night Frost
mama loves you.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Behind the Curtains

I've always wondered what it would be like to be a ghost watching people. I remember pretending to do this at different times in my life. As a child I hid from the girls at my birthday party and waited for them to come looking for me. I watched them call my name from behind a building outside of our house. I waited and watched, I believed that they couldn't see me, I said words to them that I knew they would not hear. When they came close to my hiding spot I jumped out at them. There was excitement and laughter. This is a memory.
When I was a teenager, I remember watching a boy I liked through a window. He could not see me, he did not know I was there. I watched his gestures and movments. When he looked around his space, I imagined that he was looking for me. I said words to him that I knew he would not hear. I tried to make him believe the words that I whispered. I thought myself a ghost then and I felt that I could be happy just watching forever. This is a memory.
I sometimes find myself watching people I don't know and never will. I wonder if they feel the energy of my attention, or if it just glides past them like an empty breeze. Do they feel my eyes? I say words to them that I know they will not hear. Words that match the moment. If they look up I imagine that it is because of my thoughts. It might be.
When I get a prickle, when I get a feeling, I think about the way a ghost must watch. I turn my feeling into an action. I look around for shadows and lights. I say "hello" to nothing. I smile. I connect with the space. I let a sob escape. I let all of these things happen because just incase it is you watching, you saying words that I will never hear, I want you to know that your visit was not missed. I was there with you, Frost, when you were here with me.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Is This Where You Get To Play?

Sometimes I think God makes the sky so beautiful just to make up for all of the bad things.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010


The sky was so big today. It stretched out and changed so fast. I watched the orange glow flip sides. In the morning, it rose up in the East, beaming up its pink on the clouds lifting themselves up to share the day with the blue. At dusk, the glow spread itself out like thin water. The whispy clouds became gentle waves tickling the shadowy horizon as it drowsed off to sleep. The same thing happened yesterday. On these two days I found myself doing things that pleased me. I was for me today and yesterday. It felt nice doing simple things, it felt right, I saw what I wanted too.
Yesterday I worked in the garden, it was what I wanted to do, and since I wanted to be happy, I let myself pretend a bit. I pretended that you were nearby, Frost. As I sat in the dappled shade and pulled the overgrown lemon balm away from the rose arbor, I pretended that you lay on a blanket spread under a perfect tree with perfect full shade, just right for a baby. I heard you coo and I spoke to you in the way of all mothers. I said, "do you hear the birds, sweety?" "do you like the song they are singing?" "because they are singing it for you." Then I imagined that I heard you whimper and I said, "it's okay honey, mama's here." Then I looked in the dirt that I had uncovered and I realized that I was seeing it through a swelling of tears and my pretending came to an end. I said, "mama's here, but where are you? where are you Frost?" I looked at the dirt again and remembered the winter when it was buried deep under the snow and ice, I remembered when it was frozen and I went out to the same spot and sobbed for you. I was pulling and digging at that earth that had been frozen, it was now thawed, but I still found myself sobbing for you there. I called your name again and again, I didn't care that I had become dirty and scraped and burnt with the sun. I didn't care that my tears had become a muddy paste or that my nose had become so stuffed that breathing through it was impossible, my mouth was dry with gasping for you. I didn't care about the insects and spiders and slugs meandering about. I didn't care about these things at all, until out of all of the darkness of the dirt a tiny white spider crawled onto my leg and sat. He reminded me of bones. His white was a translucent white, the kind that doesn't see sunlight. The spider's world was like that of life in a cave. Underground, a tomb. When he perched himself upon my leg, he didn't scatter the way
I would expect one exposed to the unknown would. He sat there very comfortably and made me feel that he was familiar with my world. He gave me a feeling of rebirth, ressurection. I found peace with that little spider and gently sent him on his way back to the soil which he had crawled from. We all have to visit new worlds from time to time. I did what I wanted today and yesterday and so, I think, did you.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

No Nest

A year ago we found out that you were ours and we were yours. What I have now is not what I had then, Frost.
I watched a bird go crazy inside of the store. I could relate. He started out normal, almost happy. He even seemed excited to find so much free food. He flew from perch to perch, chirping and singing, watching and eating. Waiting for the adventure of his new world. Then the bird lost his night time. There is no darkness in a 24 hour store. Without the sunset to tell him to go to sleep, the bird never rested. He began flying in circles, faster and faster, barely resting at his usual stops. His whistles became stressed, his feathers ruffled. He had lost his sky. He had lost his home.
We opened a side door for him in hopes that he would make his way to freedom, he did not. We left a trail of his favorite snack to the open door, he did not follow it. he flew and flew distracting shoppers and workers. His panic tempted our eyes. I tried to meet his gaze and somehow send him clues to finding his happiness again. I don't thik it worked. People tried to catch him, people spoke of shooting him down, all hoped to be heroic. Save him from himself, no. The next day he was gone. I don't know what happened to him. I hope that he found the door to his sky, but I don't know. Enclosure leads to insanity if one does not have a home to escape to. You are my home. You take away the crazy thoughts, you and your sister protect me. I will see you again. Someday I will follow your trail, but for now I'm going to fly around a bit more. Keep leaving your clues, okay Frost?
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

We are Mothers

I keep changing the things I like about myself. Lately, I've been happy with the way my hair looks, it curls, I like that. I have more of these curls when I don't brush my hair, too bad I always brush it before I go anywhere. That means my friends don't get the full effect of the curl. I'm mad at my eyes because they don't impress me the way that they used to. They've gone to a new place with all of the crying I've done and I don't know if they can come back. When I think I can see some of the old spirit come back, a big heavy sinks over me and off they go again. The age has withered in on me in places. I can see it, before I thought it would never come. Time stomped on me this year.
I like that I'm thinking more again, the way I did in highschool when I first dabbled with the words I love to rearrange. I left this treasure alone for a while. I don't know why but I busied myself with other things. I have to start bringing things out of their boxes and admiring them more. Using them to decorate my soul. Remembering that I have them.
I wish that I had taken more pictures of myself when I was younger, I need to see my youth now and I'm afraid I don't have anything to look at. I've made sure that Hadley will have pictures. I guess that I should feel blessed that I was given the chance to age. You were not given this chance, Frost. The only pictures we have are of your very beginning and your very ending.
I am more patient now, the little nit-picky things don't bother me. Sentimental things do, however, kidnapp me. These few things I have to hold on to, take me away when I see, hear or feel them. My Mom told me that my Grandma has been looking at old pictures with her nurse a lot lately. It's funny because she used to gripe when I always got the pictures out and asked her questions about the people and the years and the places. Now that her memories are leaving her she wants constant reminders of what she had and does not want to forget. I wanted images of where I came from and I wanted to hear the story from her. I wish that I had been told more of the stories of our family, then I could tell these to her now. When she turned 80, when her mind was still strong, I wrote her a birthday poem. In it, I wrote of the beautiful memories that she gave to me, those that helped build my childhood. She cried, she had never cried much before that I remembered. Now she cries everytime we see her, she doesn't want to leave us. She cried so much when you died Frost. She told me that she had prayed for you every night while you were in my belly, and then she said "I guess it didn't work". She remembered you every night, even though she would forget how to say our names or write a W, she remembered you even though she had never met you. I think it is because she knew where you came from and she thought that you would be our future. I like that I am a Mother and I feel that the gift was given to me from her through my Mother, we are good Mothers. I wish that I could bring you back for our entire family. I wish that your chapter in our family history did not have to be the saddest. I want a happy ending, I want you to come back to me. Can't you please do this? Maybe just for Mother's Day.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

The Camera Man and His Eyes

I've always enjoyed watching it happen, watching people fall in love. In the old movies, the silents did it the best. I didn't need to hear the words that told of true love's arrival. The expression in the eyes were all I needed to know that it had happened. The language of the body is what spoke to me. One look could last forever.
I also like watching it happen to my friends. When love comes to the people I love, I see them shimmer. It catches my eye and I can feel when it happens. It makes me warm and happy, I move along with it and thrive in its shadow.
Your sister's eyes are very beautiful, I imagine that had I seen your eyes open Frost, we would have seen the same beauty. One day I know that I will see her eyes sing out "I love him, I love him!" When this happens her eyes will become impossible not to drown in. Right now her eyes carry another kind of beauty, that of empathy. She sees so much pain through them, I think that they must be overflowing with the longing to make everything better. She needs happiness and so her eyes search it out. They work together to find happy things where sorrow has lived. When her eyes find a bit of happiness those around her see the love in her eyes and they welcome it into their hearts. We are lucky enough to be those people. In her search for this happiness, I have seen your sister begin to fall in love with the world.
I have fallen in love myself, many times. With your father, your sister and you. I've fallen in love with a whisper and a look. With a tune and a smile. I have fallen in love with the grass at my back and the end of the day. With a book and the moon. With the past and a painting. I will fall in love again and I will watch for love's reminders.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

The Firmament

This weekend there were two birthdays. One in heaven and one here. What did you and Grandpa do for his birthday? We sent four balloons up; a yellow one, a blue one, a purple one, and a pink one. Did you get them? They went high and fast with the wind. They took off in the wrong direction for us to watch for very long. The birthday here was your sister's. Hadley turned eight. She has started looking for signs from you everywhere. Today she saw something in the clouds that she believed was a warning from you. She said that she saw a man emerge from the clouds and point a bow and arrow at us. I asked her which cloud she saw this in and she looked and answered that it had gone. I said what was it a warning of and she said that it meant that we should never go to the fortune teller. I don't know where this thought came from. We had not spoken of this before. I believe that she might fear the future a bit, because of the things that come up bad. She wants to keep her ignorant bliss for as long as possible. The soothsayer can keep her doomsday rabble to herself because I don't want to know either. We decided that we would heed the warning you sent us from the sky today.

The sky has become my connection to you also. I have been watching it, in all of its forms. Night, for stars and the moon. For whispy clouds and wind. Day for billowy sky-paintings and sun rays. For possible rainbows and sweeping birds. Stormy, bright, clear, blue, black, golden, setting, waking, split by electricity. All the ways the sky can go. The beautiful Firmament. To me it has become the veil that covers your new home. And by watching constantly I feel as though I might be able to peek through the layers and catch a glimpse of what I have lost. I've been taking pictures of these sky-paintings, trying to catch a calm through its gauziness. Morning and evening are a good time to do this. Tonight I caught a face in the clouds right next to a belly full of life. Hadley saw hearts marching over and over in a optical parade. Which one do you sit upon, Frost? Who do you play with? With the other babies? Today was our special Mother's Day and you darlings gave us precious gifts, the day was perfect here. The sky opened up for us like a giant greeting card, with nothing but words of purest love written in an ancient script that can never be read, only known.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

If only I were Alice, Then All I would Have to do Would Be to Eat a Tiny Cake

I have a pattern to my day. It consists of watching things that don't matter, and not doing things that need to be done. I listen to music during the day and wonder why I never made anything so beautiful. I disappoint myself and let myself get wrapped up in all of that shame. I know that I am talented, but I won't let myself show this. It's a feeling of not deserving, I must have done something wrong not to be able to keep you, Frost. It's a need to hide, I don't want to spread my bad luck to others by letting them know me. It's the embarrassment when I take a chance and the response is limiting. I will show myself a new way. Some days I do, but I get shoved back. Tattle-tells always mortified me. I will never tell on myself.
I look into each corner of the room. I see spots of light and spots of dark. Like I stared at the sun. It is too much for me to take in. The power of one image has taken away all of the rest of my senses. I can't feel anything else, I only know you. What I have is not the same, and what I will have could never have been without you.
I stared at the sun too long as a child. I twisted up on a swing and looked up. I remember doing this. I wonder if anybody noticed as I was sidetracked. My White-Rabbit was the day. I followed it until I was lost.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


Being in public is not something I should have done today. Every other person I saw today had a baby close to your age. I drove by women wearing slings with perfectly shaped tiny heads peeking out. Strollers rolled past as carefree as could be, and shopping carts holding precious cargo lingered a little too long, a little too near. I want to be these people but I do not want to see them, but I need to see them so that I have an idea of where we would be if you had stayed here. I look at the babies because I want to see what you would be doing now Frost. It's hard for me to pin-point your milestones. I have to look to others and guess at what new challenge you would be mastering right about now. When would you smile, when would you push yourself up, when would you sit? Never.
At the very beginning of my day today, right before waking, I was like these people. I dreamt that I was in the hospital and there was a beautiful baby with new eyes looking at me. There was a nurse I didn't recognize and she handed the child to me. I fed the baby my first milk and everything was good. I felt a great comfort. Then I woke, at that moment I still felt the comfort, I told your Daddy about it before I left to go out into the public. On the drive, I spent most of my time looking at the moon rather than the road, the comfort stayed with me. I arrived to my destination and began to busy myself with work. And then I felt the comfort leave me. It was a powerful rip, it tore away from me and sobs spilled out between the work and the memory of the recent dream. So soon the beautiy of it was replaced by a reality so harsh and unfair. All I wanted was in that dream and knowing it wasn't real took me down. This is why the public is hard for me. If I had stayed in bed I would have stayed with the comfort. With you.
I don't think that when people see me they know what's going on inside of me. Even when my eyes are dark and stained from tears, I don't think that people see the real struggle unless they too have been touched by the cold of death's hollow fingers. This empty hopelessness is what we are left with when our loved ones are taken. Oh, sweet baby I hope with all my heart that where you are what you are feeling is the complete opposite of this. I need you to be filled with a fullness so beautiful that it shines from your eyes and jumps from your voice. Today would have been a perfect day for holding you. Someday I want to do this forever.
My cry is changing, it's not the same as it was at first. It's becomeing more familiar, it has become a part of me.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

We Could have Been in 1908

We went to your woods yesterday Frost. Hadley and I walked there together. I didn't cry this time, Hadley took away some of the saddness. She was amazed at the quiet in the woods and the beauty. She guaranteed me that there were fairies hiding from us and I told here that I thought you were there too. We took pictures of eachother and of the flora. Trees and vines, poison ivy and Solomon's Seal. Wolf spiders, snails and ants. Things scurried and we watched. We shared our afternoon with you and the Earth. It was good for us. It felt like we were living another life for a while, a life that could have been lived a hundred years ago. A life without distraction. Hadley called the creek a river, she is innocent. We searched for mushrooms but found none. What we did find was so much more. Broken branches spoke to me. I found out that broken things can still be pretty. I can still be pretty. I am going to explore this idea further. I am going to find broken things and prove that these can be beautiful. You were the most beautiful, and as broken as broken can be. I am going to embrace the things I cannot fix. And let these things fix me in turn.

Did you see your sister? Isn't she beautiful? She was singing her little made up songs in your woods. Just like I used to when I was a little girl. Her lyrics didn't make sense they just were. I think she must have been singing for you. She kept singing: "beautiful, beautiful, amazing...". Her voice can be quite lovely, it was more so in your woods.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

I Need a Book on Feng Shui

It was four months today, four months since the earth became flat again, and I fell from its edge. I spent much of the day sleeping. I slept like I did when I was first pregnant with you. The flat-out sleep that you cannot resist, the sleep that bounces you out of your ordeals. I surrendered to it. I wanted to stay in it longer than I did. I didn't wake refreshed as one might think would happen. I got up and wandered around the house looking at things. I get mad at things. Things that are always in their place. I want to move these things so that the rooms look different. I want to change the view from what it was when you died four months ago. I want to move the mirrors and rearrange chairs and carpets. I did this the week before you died to get ready for you. Tomorrow is Monday. I used to spend Mondays with you in my belly, it was the only day of the week I had to myself with you. We cleaned and made the things in their spaces look nice. We were arranging the nest I was to bring you into. I would look around and try to decide where your favorite place to be would be. I tried to pick out the calmest places, the places that would help me sooth your cries. I will go to those places now, they do not sooth my cries. Only you can do that Frost. And you don't do this where I pictured you doing it. You spring a calmness on me sometimes when I'm not expecting it, in places I didn't know were perfect.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

The Ramp

I have something that is unusually difficult to do. I do it three times a week. I did it before you died and after. It was not hard before, but now it breaks me. I deliver food to the hospital on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. I go through the back, up a long ramp. It is the same hospital where I delivered you. I hated going there after, but I also used it to think about you. I know that you were there. I walked you down the long stark hallway in my belly. I hummed to you and listened for the echo. After, one day I had to deliver the baby cakes that they give to the new parents getting ready to take home new babies, living babies. I did not receive such a cake. I hate taking them there. It's a constant reminder. After, one day as I arrived I watched a somber pick-up being made. The morticians had come, they were returning to the herse with a body covered in blue sheets. The body was on a gurney, the body belonged to an adult. Thank God. I watched as they used the same ramp I had walked up and down with you as you grew. And then I realized that someone else had walked you down that ramp and put you into a car, Frost. I don't know if that stranger carried you or rolled you out. You were only four and a half pounds so I must assume that they carried you out. I hope that the stranger, who had the privilege of holding you, was gentle with your little body. Your Mother and Father never got to carry you outside into the face of nature, that stranger had our moment with you and probably didn't even realize it. We dreamed of it, it was his job. I walked up the ramp today wondering if the people I encountered knew how extremely shattered I was becoming inside, holding in tears and pretending that walking that path was the easiest thing. I have to walk the path of your only walk outside everyday. Should I embrace this, or be crushed by it? Somedays I hum as though you are there with me again, other times I sob as though this was the place where you were torn away from me forever. It is a very hard place to be, I think that there must be many, many spirits along that path. I am living. I walk upon cement that has felt the wheels of death. I feel its finality and frailty. In most of the places I spend my time, people have not died. In this place that I go three times a week, the number of lives vanished is overwhelming. It's a very different place to be. I will try to hum there more often.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.