Body and Blood
for A.J.
In wedding white I lift laughing lips
to rain, dance my daughter across
grass green and lush and luminous
beneath grey skies and my heart cracks
with the weight of sorrow and
love.
In the shower blood
like rivers rages down my legs
till I stand in a sea of scarlet—
my own flesh and blood. Stooping
I gather him, cradle his tiny pink body
in my palm, gaze awed at arms, legs,
spine, dark spots for eyes, earbuds,
nostrils—all of him
smaller than the tip of my
thumb—and still the blood
flows.
Later we will wrap him in a cloth,
close him in a tiny tin, bury him
beneath the grass where we danced,
where rain and tears mingle with laughter
and my heart will crack
again. No one told me
how the heart breaks
and breaks and
keeps on breaking,
how love
is like death, only
stronger.
The exquisite featured image is from Julie Jablonski and used with her permission for Cultivating and The Cultivating Project. We are grateful and rejoice in celebrating her beautiful work.
K. C. Ireton is a multi-published author of both fiction and nonfiction books, including The Circle of Seasons: Meeting God in the Church Year and A Yellow Wood and Other Stories. She and her daughter, Jane, co-host Lantern Hill, a podcast for people who love books, children, and God. Visit kcireton.com to learn more about her work and download the first two chapters of her most recent book. Or visit her on Substack at kcireton.substack.com, where she publishes stories and liturgies.
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Oh Kimberlee. This leaves me hushed in prayer…
K.C.,
I have since been greatly comforted, but am one who has known this pain. Our loss was heightened by the sad circumstance of my having given the doctor’s office the tiny body, as they requested it. They disposed of him/her before I knew to ask for it back.
But what peace in knowing we’ll meet again in new and perfect bodies, one day, eternal in the heavens.
Denise
Oh Denise, I did not realize this was part of your story. I am so sorry you experienced this loss. I love the last line of your note–so grateful for the promise of that reunion. Love to you, friend.