The after-silence opened early that December morning (sometimes it comes as a surprise and sometimes expected, they say).

We stepped into it on your last gasp (ready or not, dreaming or not)

and as you were dropped into the ground (the splash of water, the frosty breath).

We stood shaped (sent forth, novel, unprotected, planned, ventured, naked),

of your own making (and of our own, I must admit, forever set to disappoint and astonish).

I give birth to you in turn (from our ruddy beginning, playing out in an ever-widening spiral)

and offer up a noise not yet silenced.

In remembrance of my mother’s death, ten years ago this month. This poem continues a poetic conversation with Jennifer Knoblock (https://gracefulpress.wordpress.com/2014/11/28/saving-the-innocents-a-fragment/). Please visit her blog and enjoy her wonderful words.