Then I felt like Dante

My husband and I went on our babymoon for baby 6, a quiet couple days in an isolated cabin on a stretch of farmland not far from our home. He worked on his novel, and I wrote a few new poems, but mostly spent the time editing what I’ve written in the past year, those months of Kit’s diagnosis, birth, life, and death. I had been calling this book “Kit’s book” and I’m in no rush to finish it, but if I were really to say what this book is about, I’m writing about hell. The absolute hell of losing a child. That is what I learned this weekend—if I am waiting for happy poems to come to “round out” this book, I will wait forever—this is a lament, and, yes, every poem is sad.

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