Driving home through
dark and rainswept streets
in this place where
love and sorrow meet
I roll the windows
down,
let the cold air
wipe me clean,
disperse the anguish
I have seen.
The smell of death
lingers on me,
my sweater stained
with salty tears
of fathers, sisters,
lovers,
my arms ache from
holding
those who cry and
those
who cannot,
ache as after a long
hard birth
and holding a mother
who labors.
The night is quiet
and still
and no baby cries
as I drive home.
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