That Other Death. Poem by Terry Collett

After that death
there was that other,
that part of self,

that link which
had been torn asunder,
she felt, the dead child,

that part of her not
there anymore, that part
tissue, nerves, eyes, hair,

all of her now no more,
lost from her like some
fine gem lost on a faraway

deserted shore. Thoughts
of the dead child occupied
each inch of space within

her head. How and why
and where? Questions
poured over her like one

beneath a waterfall, so she
could hardly breath for grief,
the fingers at her throat

seemingly tightening, her
heart aching as if squeezed,
her eyes shut against the light

or the dimness at each night.
After the child's death, was
that other death, that part and

parcel of herself torn away,
flesh, blood, memories of eyes,
smiles, first words, first steps,

first kiss, first tug upon the dug,
all gone in that other death,
and other going through dying.

And beyond that, the magpie,
alone, up in a dull sky flying.