fausse-couche
I could point to the moment
like a pinprick of a scar
just below a battered kneecap,
the kind of battle wound thats too big
to forget,
too small to show off.
Later a nurse would tell me
with stoic sterility
that there was really nothing to miss,
that it was too early even
to call it a boy or a girl.
Still I sat in my blood
and felt the loss,
felt the gentle heave of grief,
the door settling back into its threshold
before I saw it open.
thickerthanwater:
Love the poem. I saw the draft horse, but was more interested in the "Unicow' and World's smallest woman. What a carnival!
codemonkeym:
