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Lying in a cardboard box

memories, mementos.

A baby sleeper

a teether,

letters, booklets, poems,

little lap pads,

an ultrasound picture...



The items remain unused.

Some still sealed.

Never opened.

Frozen in time.



The tiny sleeper

became my crying towel

for a long time.

I held it close.

Slept with it.

Needed it.

Clung to it.



The letters and poems

go unread

save for me.

I am the only one

who reads the words

I wrote so many years ago.



The ultrasound.

My only visual proof.

My only picture.

Such a tiny form

lying still.

Already gone to Heaven

when that picture was taken.



Little face, little arms,

little legs.

Little child.

Never to have felt

Mommy's touch.





Several times a year

the box comes off

the closet shelf.

I sit in my eternal sorrow

taking out each item.

Re-reading, re-touching

remembering...



Fresh tears fall upon

the infant sleeper.

Mingling with the ones

that absorbed there

over the years.



A pain that's been there

since that day

still resides

and hurts afresh each time.

It will always remain...



The pain and anguish

of loosing a child.

The pain and anguish

you never get over.

The pain and anguish

of a box of memories.



A box of things

never used

never needed

but never forgotten...



2002