SandScript 2020

Grief Distribution
Cara Laird
My friend’s garage was full
of brand new, achingly unused
nursery furniture, baby clothes.
She cried showing me the
video baby monitor
they would never use;
I am sure she imagined her baby
on that screen
rather than attached, strung like a puppet
to the NICU monitors
high pitched beeping
harsh tape all over his
fragile, new skin.
She could not keep these reminders
and also, could not explain
to dozens of strangers
why she didn’t need them.
She might splinter - actually crack open,
bleed her fury at their
well intentioned feet
if one more person told her
her baby, dead, is god’s will.
I fit everything into my truck
piece by piece, a Tetris challenge
to get it all in one trip
so she could be finished
with this minuscule, massive portion of grief.
I carried it all away
and sold every last piece:
each hand crocheted blanket
every single “little brother” onesie.
I suggested she do something joyful
with the money.
So, she took her family to California,
sat on the beach
watched her older children
splash wildly, so very alive
pictured her lost son floating on the waves
headed out to sea.
POETRY
171