To Abigail

 "With whom will I share this pain,
This choking feeling in my throat?
These tears that break into my house
water my memory,
Soaking and drenching me like a castaway,
With no bird to announce land,
And no shore on which to collapse and wait,
To be rescued.
This future with you, that will never be,
And the games we'll never play,
And the songs I'll never sing,
The dice, the coloured pencil,
The lullaby—all snatched from my hands.
With whom am I to break into pieces,
Tear my clothes, and mumble your name?
With whom am I to share
My anger, my fury,
And when I see the hour remaining,
With whom am I to share
This raw pain,
Like a tentacle around my throat?
My baby is dead."