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Matriphagous
January 2, 2017
She shifts
in a red padded
rocking chair,
alone,
ensconced in a shallow,
thin blanket.
Her eyes quiver to a crib, scanning
a sign that reads escape.
“Trap,”
she edited
for a place
no story said existed.
She searches the room,
no sound, no cries,
swaddled in a ball
of buttons and fleece.
Her mouth bloomed small;
her eyes, so wide,
begging to be held
in a cold place
no story claimed to know.
© Melissa P., Oley, PA
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This is a poem inspired by the silent struggles of those with Postpartum Depression, seen from the mother's and baby's view points. We often hear the stories of romantic heartbreak and loss, but other stories are hidden in shame or guilt.