For all those humans who, like elephants, steel away from the herd to silently return to their forgotten children’s bones:

A child without parents is an orphan.

A wife without her husband is a widow.

A husband without his wife is a widower.

A mother without her child has no name.



I am nameless.


My name must never be uttered.

To breathe

a whisper,

would shatter

the fragile existence,

a desperate grip on deliberate lies

and careful deceits

post mortem

denial of truth

that we fear

ignorance more than enlightenment.


I am nameless.


An identity un-denied for the gift

of the naming

is to manifest

the dark matter

of grief

invisible, yet tugging at the fabric

of happiness

threads of bliss

tapestries woven

of the hope

that we dare not light up to reveal


I am nameless.


The unseen skeleton,

cloaked and cowled,

a looming dark

fearful light

prolonging the distance

between me and you

A universe bent,

the elephant man

born to live

in beauty’s disregard.


I am nameless.

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1 Response

  1. Fran Wollenman

    I look forward to everything you write. And each time, I am more profoundly affected than before — something that I thought would be an impossibility. I think of you, I ache for you, I have deep fondness for you, yet I don’t know you. You have the very precious gift of expression, especially regarding the loss of a child. My has not been through death but difficulty. With life their is hope. Without…I can not possibly begin to comprehend your pain accompanied with the loss of all the dreams, hopes, birthdays that should have been, graduations, wedding that should have been. Grandchildren that should have been. I had all of those and I still have hope.

    You are deep within my heart and soul.

    Fran Wollenman