The Crime of Writing

The Crime of Writing

I woke up feeling the warmth of my daughter
Stopped her screams throughout the night
So happy I rushed to tell my husband
She’d slept on my belly and hardly moved
Except he was gone
Left a shell, cool
So cold to touch I froze
No one should meet their love this way

His death killed me
Not my body, just certainty
My kids couldn’t understand
I still can’t

I felt this grief so hard
Needed to find a way to still it
Stall it, corral it
Get it to go away

So I wrote a book for my kids
For children, for every child
Who loses a parent or anyone loved
There’s that sadness you can’t speak

The book is out except I’m not
I’m stuck in my freezing house
Wandering about looking for his soul
Never thought he’d make an angry ghost

The police claim I
Poisoned him with pills
They say it’s not just love that kills
Also: money, sympathy, liberty
Right. And two kids to feed
No family to help

Covid killed my husband, not me
My crime is the crime of writing
All I  typed is not murder

The trial lawyers write new lies
People love to make up stories
Imagine gaining some quick glory

Fame and infamy – don’t they unite?
I do and dearly loved my husband
I wish he’d come back 
Tell everyone the truth

Whatever happens at the trial
The story’s mine to tell
Only mine