Simply Haiku: A Quarterly Journal of Japanese Short Form Poetry
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Winter 2006, vol 4 no 4


Irene Golas


His eyes tell me all I need to know. The news is bad, so bad he can't look at me. Wishes he were anywhere but here. Here, a hospital room. He, a doctor delivering the news. My baby just died.

I can't breathe . . . can't speak. Can't do anything except lock eyes on his. Every particle is frozen . . . motionless. I see his lips move. Hear the word "dead." See him turn and hurry from the room.

Down the hall, a baby - someone else's baby - starts to cry. Hot knife through ice. Every cell a searing scream...

raw wind
I touch my child's name
on the gravestone

A librarian by training, Irene Golas has published poetry in Acorn, Canadian Woman Studies, Frogpond, Haiku Canada Newsletter, The Heron's Nest, Red Moon Anthology 2005, Roadrunner Haiku Journal, Simply Haiku, and Tanka Splendor 2006. In 2004, she received an Honorable Mention in Haiku Canada's annual Betty Drevniok Award. She lives in Sudbury, Ontario, Canada, where she spends her time reading and writing poetry, gardening, cooking, and raising two boys with her husband.