Stillborn, Mary Tumulty 

Trees bleed leaves around me.
A stain marks my shirt.

In pours sunset—
a wash of blood.

The cold catches my breath.
My legs freeze.

It’s the same ole meadow.
It’s the same ole breeze

cut from another year
where I’ve forgotten how to forget.

Lend me your voice.
I want to put it in my mouth—

breathe in light and heat
heal up cracks with kisses.

It is in your lips
that summer lives.

It is in your eyes
where love frees me from the chains of living.

Hold me so yesterday can
spoon tomorrow.

Touch me where things cannot be born and die
in a single push of time.

Anita Stienstra