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My products of conception
Caught on film
in a big white envelope
My celluloid baby
Not warm nor soft to touch,
but still and serious
Awkward and sinister
Among cookbooks on the shelf

When autumn comes
I will release you to the earth
and the daffodils
They will hold you close all winter
And raise their lovely heads in spring
To whisper to me
“You were almost a mother”

Hi Eve, this is a very touching poem.
The image of the white envelop mixed in with the cookbooks is very strong, as is the idea of the Mother burying it or sprinkling it's ashes in the dirt.