i wrote and processed and wrote and grieved and wrote all the time about sky and life and the world and sky and writing writing words on scraps of paper and emailing myself and the journal in my bag and the journal by my bed writing everywhere and thinking and feeling and praying with pen and pencil and keyboard maybe if i write about him enough he’ll come back and then he didn’t come back and i stopped.

no more to say.

he’s not in the words. stilted sentences. life misspelled. fragments everywhere. the thoughts don’t come in words; they come in spaces. language, the ordering and formalizing of context, but life’s grammar broke for him. senseless, make up words and call them statistics because they’re what happen when the words fail. when there are no words, give it a number.

his number is 1.
1% of babies are stillborn.

that word lied. stillborn is a lie. he wasn’t still; he was floppy and had to be tied up tightly in blankets to stay still. the world had too much movement for him.

and born? born is meaningless, a circleword.

born: a past participle of bear.
bear: to give birth to
birth: an act or instance of being born.

stupid meaningless letters strung together that we use to mean things that his life doesn’t mean.

and when the wordless parts in me realized that the words would never reach him, then the words went away and my voice broke and i have only numbers.
120 days since sky went away.
15 days since words went away.
9 little plastic sticks that promised
2 babies and i have

and here the numbers stop, and so … space.


2 thoughts on “silence”

  1. there are no words to respond. nothing that will make any sense. but i cannot leave this page without gratitude for your words, filled with meaning or not. and love for you, whether you want it or not.
    in the broken promises, the land of not how things were supposed to be, i love you. it won’t help, it won’t change anything, but i feel compelled to say it.

  2. Joel, you are an amazing writer, a poet and I too have no words. I grieve with you and yet have nothing to offer but a proverbial shoulder to cry on that is hundreds of and seems like millions of miles away. This too will be made right in the end and hope is yet to come, but grief and pain steal our words. my heart is with you guys.

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