Dora is hosting Prosery in the Pub today and provides a line from Walt Whitman's poem "Out of the Cradle" to include in our [ prosery not poetry ]
'Out of the ninth-month midnight'
March 4, 1943
It seems strange writing to you from under these moonlit Kentucky skies, wondering where the bright stars might find you. I have news that fills me with joy, though it aches to tell you in writing instead of whispering it lying beside you. We are going to have a baby! A piece of you and me. I pray you will be back in time to greet him .. or her.
Forever yours, Anna
September 18, 1943
My love,
It was late night when he arrived, our precious son .. out of the ninth-month .. midnight. Like a promise. His eyes are bright like yours, his smile is contagious. I thought my heart would burst .. could not hold any more love, yet here we are. We wait for you my darling, I will keep our son safe until you return.
Forever, Anna & Charles
This is beautiful Helen… 🙂✌🏼🫶🏼🎼
ReplyDeleteA lovely write, Helen. :)
ReplyDeleteDearest Helen,
ReplyDeleteHow many of this kind of love letters have been written and maybe never were received due to casualties.
So much sadness and a whole different level of love letter...
Hugs,
Mariette
Very well written, Helen!
ReplyDeleteLoved your composition here, Helen!
ReplyDeletePerfectly done. Superb, Helen, tone, style, emotions brought alive, and the silence at the other end has so many possible meanings...and the ending...'forever yours' then 'forever', adds the extra chill
ReplyDeleteI love that you chose the letter format, Helen, and where it took you, under ‘moonlit Kentucky skies’, back to 1943, and that we both wrote about a birth – and a Charles/Charlie!
ReplyDeleteI would really love for him to return.... so many stories ended well, bit many didn't-
ReplyDeleteTenderly worded letters, made all the more so by the news conveyed. Made my heart ache just reading it, thinking of the many such letters that might have been written throughout the centuries. The war not over, the letters leave us wondering if the new father ever made it home. And wars, when will they ever end?
ReplyDeleteSuch a tender and loving letter
ReplyDeleteHelen, another superb poem ~
ReplyDelete