In this house, where so many
children were stillborn,
ghosts slobber and roar.


These are my siblings
reflections of the fierce
and wild storms of my heart.


They crash about the kitchen,
sending chairs flying,
overturning the table,
ripping the doors from their hinges.


Their sorrow is beyond forgetting.
They will never love, never dream.
Yet I will hold them always,
or until they are erased
by the wind.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wind-carries-memory/