Mother of the Lost
by Nimue Brown
I met Rhiannon in the waiting room
At the family court, her eyes vast
With unvoiced grief, a story carried
Too long and unheard.
I watched her carry women
Across that troubled floor.
Carried the ones who asked
And the ones who did not.
I saw Rhiannon at the refuge,
Holding steady the mothers of children
Taken and children dead,
The never born, the lost forever.
Carrying, carrying so much weight
Silenced stories, stolen lives.
I saw Rhiannon at the jail
Where they lock away those
Who come as night horrors
To take the innocent.
Saw her thin lipped and weary.
Always, they come.
I saw her carry the women
Who lied about blood and guilt.
Saw her carry the ignorant
Who blamed her for the loss.
Afraid to ask how much more
Her narrow shoulders could bear.
When I could not bear myself,
I saw Rhiannon.