.
yesterday watching ducks placid
on the pond i thought
of my unborn children,
.
the odd tilt poised
for a smile in one boy’s green eye,
.
the blowsy woman in the port
terminal whom I
gave my little girl to,
.
all well pleased though I
did wonder: quite a different
landscape than my casual
.
broken fingernails
and work boots, D’s carelessly
owned competence.
.
i thought about the way
the second boy and i spoke
without speaking.
.
how I miss him.
.
I often sit alone now
the placid ducks
crumbs.
orphan poems 