As much a journey of love as it is one of loss.
How would you explain the rhythm of music to a deaf person? A colorful painting to a blind person? The cry of a newborn to a mother deprived of that glorious moment? Blooms at Midnight is an anthology of heartbreaking prose and poems by Olivia Kay Washington that reflects on unfathomable sorrow. Penned nearly a decade after the loss of her first child, the collection is raw anguish come to life. After months of preparation for her arrival, Jessie Marie is stillborn, and this moving book encompasses the bottomless pit of emotions experienced by her mother. From missed milestones and unused toyboxes to awkward conversations and well-intentioned sympathy cards, every facet of sorrow is weighed and revisited. As you move slowly through this anthology, you’ll notice a searing intensity, a suffocating anger, and a terrifying vulnerability that echoes in every heart. Many tears will be shed reading this collection, though not as many as were undoubtedly shed by the author.
This melancholic collection is divided into distinct parts that reflect the author’s journey through grief. Poignant moments abound in this soul-searching portrait, though maybe none more painful than Unfathomable Arrangements. Filled with meaning and then double meaning, this poem is an aching snapshot of grief in its most vulnerable form. Referring to tears as tangible sadness is a beautiful description of an incredibly dark feeling. Another earnest recollection shows people “measuring losses to see who has it worse.” When the author contrasts parents who get to enjoy birthdays with her own life where only solemn anniversaries remain, you’ll need to pause for a moment and let that gravity sink in. Losing a child leaves a parent bereft of more than just an empty seat at the dinner table, and this acute feeling is highlighted in ways that can’t be covered in a single poem. Conversations With are intimate snippets that invite audiences to get to know another grieving woman, a son, and a daughter on a level so personal, it stings. This might be one of the most agonizing books you read this year, but just when you think you might be swallowed whole by the magnitude of grief, the author dabs the outer edge of the canvas with lighter shades. Time can’t really heal a wound like this, but such a loss “has the ability to polish the rough parts of your soul into smooth, pearlescent moonstone.” As much a journey of love as it is one of loss, Blooms at Midnight is a moving collection that is eloquently self-reckoned, “I may never be healed, but I am content.”
