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The house sits...
Alone.

Devoid of a family,
empty. empty.

The children are no longer within it's protective grasp.
It longs...
it reaches out to another...
family.

Sadness fills and overwhelms.
No happiness within.

A dream is dying,
mourning is yet to come.

Stillness permeates and garbage abounds.
Merely a shelter to brave mice...
Pity the new ones...
They better have a cat - an educated one...
in mousing.

Let it die, let go, memories can be kept.
Allow the house to engulf and cherish a new family.
Hope they attain their goals and dreams.

The white house with brown trim on the corner with its
idiosyncrasies.
Crotchety pipes all; water and waste,
sensitive kitchen outlets.
Someone will want it and add respect.

This family holds new dreams;
freedom, space, and quiet.

The house will be and others will own.
The time is right to release.
The house is freed.

Life moves.

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- Starlene D. Stewart
February 24, 1994

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Divorce is a four letter word,
pain reeks at it's very utterance...

Wounds are deep,
everyone is scarred.
Husband, wife, kids; all punched with a sad reality.

Separation from loved ones,
words said and endured and recalled, they sting unabashedly.

Some are lucky - the amicable ones,
for others the journey holds more pain.

Were lessons learned?
Or will a new endeavor reap similar results?

The children ache for a parent,
the loss indescribable, it will affect for life.
Perhaps even result in their own failed attempts
as they live a life modeled to them.

Hope for consciousness, this is the key.
Remain unconscious and wallow forever
in the muck and mire of unhappy couplings.
Examine the past and heal.
Life is a lesson.

Rejoice on your journey --
Pain is great, but can be overcome.

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-Starlene D. Stewart
February 24, 1994

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The little boy sits...
He watches and waits...
and wonders...
Where's Mommy?
The day seems infinite,
he can't tell time.

The Mom glances at her watch...
too long gone.
Heartache for the little boy...
Precious hours away...
she's on the clock.

The babysitter,
she tries to fill in
for the little boy,
But there's no bond
and she anxiously awaits the time.

Society scorns the welfare mom
unable to accept her attempts...
to raise her own.

Although the system was originally created to support...
moms raising their kids.

So the little boy waits...
And watches...
And wonders...
Where's Mommy?

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-Starlene D. Stewart
February 24 ,1994
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Standing stubbornly outside the door...
not willing to turn the knob.

But in fact it's a steep, treacherous mountain I stand at the foot of...
and literally it's fear that has me cemented in place.

Confusion. Backward thinking.
Everything is opposite to what it seems.

What I most desire is to be held,
but a part bigger than this desire looms above and insists that I resist affection.

What is it I truly need?

Becoming conscious is painful, and yet...
to remain unconscious holds anguish.

Should I stay or should I go?

The way is long and rocky.
To understand why I do what I do is difficult.

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- Starlene D. Stewart
November 10, 1994

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Once again you can experience the sensations unique to creating a new life.
The slow swelling of your tummy,
that first kick and all the other stretches and kicks,
those baby hiccups inside,
cupping your hand on that tiny bottom,
the first exciting pangs of labor
and the not so exciting transitional and delivery pains,
the urge to push,
reaching to touch that protuding small head so much still a part of you,
the final pushes which bring your baby to you,
that peaceful feeling once those persistant contactions are finally over,
holding that sweet, precious little baby close to your heart and breast,
discovering whether you have another son or daughter,
counting those tiny fingers and toes,
deciding whose nose or whose eyes or ears they have,
offering this precious new human your life sustaining breast
and the eager suckling they already know how to do
and become such pros after a few days.

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- Starlene D. Stewart
March 3, 1995

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Screaming.
Loud screaming.
Silent screaming.
Terrified nothing dream screams.
I want to scream. I want to wail. I want to be loud.
No screaming. No screaming aloud. No screaming allowed.
Silent terror. No defense. Mute.
Try to scream, ache to scream, no screaming aloud.

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- Starlene D. Stewart
March 14, 1997

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It would have been fun being a girl.
Dressing up,
Slumber parties,
Dating.

It must have been fun to be a girl.
Loving pink.
Loving frilly thrills.
Loving flowery things.
And it would be okay.
Acceptable.

It wasn't okay to be a girl.
Not right. Bad.
Supposed to be a boy.
Act tough, take control. Big girls don't cry.

- Starlene D. Stewart
March 14, 1997

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This poem from a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous. Her poem is about the
abortion she was forced to have as a teen.

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Copyright 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997

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