Her Womb

Her tears have dried, heart has shriveled,
Since the little one died,
In her womb,
The hand that held her own,
The father of the child unborn,
Is a stranger in their home,
The tragedy lingers like bad breath,
A hideous memory of the blood bath,
He doesn’t hear her muffled cries,
The stoic silence is killing them both,
No grave to sit by in fond remembrance,
Of a nameless child,
She struggles to let go.