How should we remember those we’ve lost
The husband, the miscarried child, the dreams
The date they died, or where we loved them first?

The place in time, the lists we make, the ghost
Or should we reimagine  much loved scenes
Should we cling to  memories of the lost?

Who is it that we shall miss the most
The husband or the children unrevealed
The date they disappeared, the last, the first

I do not laugh or cry when all alone
Emotions have no message,nothing mean
When noone  knows  or shares the  space between

While I live, my body and my bones
Prefer the sensuous scents of ripe cornfields
The place he slept, his tenderness ,his arms

I  still feel the  grief  from child stillborn
The Saxon cliffs of Kent,with smoke adorned
How should we remember husbands  gone
When they leave no child and all is done?