CW: This poem is about miscarriage & babyloss
Don’t worry, there are others.
But they don’t understand
They don’t hear my belly’s mournful cry
the loss howling through this empty place
whistling through my hollow teeth.
All the time, it happens.
But they don’t understand
How I ache in my bones, in my sinews, my head
How I let and let the blood until there is none left
The river mouth parched-
and I am all but spent.
It’s been a year, or many.
They don’t understand
this newfound, mournful shape of me,
how rest just gets away from me,
and how my birthday
will always be the day you died.
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