Writing in prose would make it more real
it sits better
I feel safer in airy verse
Maybe I will get through
the back way
The year from hell is over
A new year of change has begun
Probably not too different at all
Both completely changed
A year of truth and transparency
It hurt
It moved
It felt solid and secure
Politeness has no space in it
It inhibited communication
I know who loves me
this year
I know who is a pretender
this year
I know who likes hiding behind
their social norms
their lifestyles
their children
their self-inflicted problems
their endless excuses
as to why they couldn’t
talk about it with us
or write to us since
or accept that we also
became parents
We got on three different planes
travelled for over 20 hours
to be here for these perverted holidays
Back to the place our son died nearly ten months ago
To be met with
silence
awkwardness
clumsiness
and anger
when we did not adhere to the purposed structure
Because we were too relaxed
Because we were not on time
Because we showed emotion
Maybe we too did not ask the right questions
Maybe we too did not make them feel comfortable
Maybe we did not hold their hand tightly enough
Maybe we did not protect them from our pain
Maybe we all expect the wrong things from each other
No group is homogenous
Not everyone treated us the same way
There was a binary split
between those who could handle it
and
those could could not
Those who were sensitive
and
those who were not
It is hard to believe that people are still people
after something bad happens
People are just charming, hospitable locals on your expensive holiday
until bombs fall on them
they lose their house
and come to your country asking for asylum
Your friends are just like you
until their baby dies
yours lives
and you still can’t help but talk about
their sleeping habits
their poo accidents
the new words they said
endlessly
without any understanding as to how it might make
those whose baby died feel
We are also valid
We will not be silent