Poem: “Flowers in My Garden”


Flowers in My Garden
(by A Mother)

Am I allowed to mourn my child who was never born?
The one upon whom my eyes will never gaze, probably because of my advanced maternal age.
Can I cry for you?

You are a part of me.
But you, you were to be Number Thirteen.
The world sees you as a number, so you don’t count. I already have a dozen.
So, can I grieve?
Do I have a right?

And I promise you, I loved you all twenty days I kept you safe within the haven of my womb…
In secret and in the darkness of a tenuous faith.
For do the wedding guests fast when the bridegroom is present?

Can I grieve whenever I swallow a swig of less-than-fine Merlot?
Can I remember you when I sadly grow leaner and more fit?
And cry.

The blood of your death did not wash me clean,
Only the blood of His will.
I consume his precious blood and offer yours that I will never wipe from a skinned knee or clean off a loose tooth.

I kiss the honey from His lips knowing I am kissing yours in eternity.
My age, 48, carried you to the mountain. …
Abraham and Isaac, you and me.
This Lent, you were required of me.
I can consume all the chocolate I want.
I just can’t kiss sweet milk dribbling from your lips.

The Father desires more from this mother: Detachment from you,
my love, our flesh, His image.
He brought you into His mansions at the perfect time.
His ways are not our ways.
I only know that he draws me to Him, through you.

You,my Little One, are a womb for me and your father.
We willingly cooperated with your creator,
our creator.
We knew the risks.
Please forgive us, our little Martyr.
Our openness has given us you and our unborn Joseph
–have you found him yet?
Without you both, there would be no twelve.
You are one Love Song!
The Song of Songs incarnated.

Upon the wood of our Matrimonial Alter we, your parents, offered ourselves to each other and to the Father through Christ crucified.
We offered you too, our beloved baby.
Now I’m left with a cold cradle and an empty womb.
Only you, Shekinah, can overshadow me and fill my wounded Mother’s heart with life, your life, eternal life.

Oh! How I miss you my baby
My child that I never knew
I promise you, I loved you
While inside me you grew.
My Babies, I’m rejoicing in hope,
with a thankful heart
But, oh Rachel, how I miss them!

He carved you into the palm of his hand when he fashioned you in secret darkness.
He knew the number of your days.
Just days….
Yet days, weeks, months, and years,
What are these to eternity?
yet, he willed you into existence
And his Word shall not return to Him void!

My Little Mary, deliver me to heaven wherein I’ll see your faces transfigured with His Glory!

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away
Blessed be the name of the Lord

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  • goral

    “But Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me;
    my Lord has forgotten me.”
    Can a mother forget her infant,
    be without tenderness for the child of her womb?
    Even should she forget,
    I will never forget you.” Is.49