This poem is not about Diabetes; Steven was killed by a hit-run driver years ago. The connection is that apparently the stress triggered my Type 1 Diabetes. This poem began in my dreams around the anniversary of his January death.
Hostess womb: my son,
born on summer's equinox.
A life of searching.
wore black and loved the Cloisters.
Yet he danced all night.
He died in winter.
His friends mourning: no answers.
A year with no spring.
Beautiful. Thank you, Sohair.
Hi Trudy. It seems that you have captured the essence of your son in your Haiku. I love reading your poems. Joanne
I agree Sohair... Your poem is a beautiful response. Joanne