Lament For Unborn Travelers


before you ended
a blob of scraped tissue
on a sterile curette
you were a cellular promise
a harbinger of the next generation
your stunted karma
and a perfect genetic compliment
crouched in the warmth of a womb
your sins are pardoned
will you pardon mine?

In the Easter of Unborn Memory
I listen for you
at roll call.
Your answer is light as helium
light as feathers and resurrection
I don't know if there is
consciousness in your juices
I don't know if there was a soul
in your cellular mass
but I know there was a longing
for you and a hope
there still is