By Kristie Shulman

A tiny one I spy
across the produce department,
his mother cooing softly
as she puts her lettuce in a bag.

The pain wells up…
a familiar visitor,
or maybe a friend…
Should I look away
or steal a peak?

“Confront it!” I tell myself.
So I take a look,
carefully…

Sweet baby boy,
you look so warm and soft
snuggled in that blanket
and those booties–
baby blue, like my son’s…
never worn,
packed away now.

Tears come
to the surface
but don’t spill over
like they did last time.
This is progress, I think.
My grief is becoming
invisible.

The mother looks away
and selects carrots,
unaware of me
and my envy.
She takes it all for granted,
I think.
She doesn’t realize…
she just doesn’t know.
It could have been me,
a few months ago,
shopping with my baby,
innocent,
unscarred.
But it wasn’t,
isn’t,
never will be.

To her, I am just another
shopper
picking bananas
and thumping melons.
I am an outsider in her world
of diapers,
feedings,
and soft, sweet-smelling things.
I want to shout
“I’m a mother too!”

Oh, this place!
I must leave this place
where proud mothers
and newborn babies
are on display
among the fruits and vegetables,
and childless mothers
like me
steal glances
and confront their pain…
again
and again.

HAND of Santa Cruz parent Kristie Shulman wrote this shortly after her first child, Daniel, was stillborn Dec 1, 1995.