letter to a friend’s toddler after my miscarriage

when you were Adam

you were all sweet banana mush

piggy squeals and doo dahs

wiggly legs in my wagon

today you are a child

you tug my blood-stained thigh

re-marking the silver bands

around all I’ve lost

someday you will be Adam again

you will skate past

my chalet of dry tears

not knowing my name

Ferns

A         week    of         sun       and

under               garage              eaves,

baby    fists     uncurl,            stretch

slender             hands               up

in         praise   of        feathers.

Armed with     lace,     palm

trees     without

trunks, theme

park for

lady

bugs.

Berries

My mother squatted

in the heat, breathing

through contractions, filled

one last pail of perfect

sweetness for her mother-in-law

who, the day we left the delivery

room, would be wanting

fresh jam.

And every birthday,

when my mother

whips me up an angel

food cake with strawberries,

I imagine myself slipping out

between those tidy

rows of straw,

only the umbilical cord

around my neck

to hold me together.  

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. Other than incredulity at my Oma for forcing a 9-month-pregnant woman to pick berries. (And I wasn't actually born until she got to the hospital, but I was born with the cord wrapped.)

Daddy's girl

When my dad dies

my vote will no longer

cancel his.

When my dad dies

the men pointing

infected needles

at daddy’s girls

around every corner

will fly away

with the fairies

in shared sadness

that no one remains

to believe.

When my dad was a boy

he drove a motorcycle

off the barn roof.

I loved him then.

When my dad married my mom

he said let’s keep this simple.

She agreed, but

in a moment of weakness

opened her legs

and let me out.

Working backwards

8 am The pastor answers but takes me for a drunk needing charity
7 am The teddy bear I took from your bed falls without a sound
6 am Sheets tangle around my feet
5 am Pink tablets meant for nausea spin me in heavy arms of grey
4 am My eyelids cannot block the fluorescence of your cheek
3 am I slur your name again and again
2 am I don’t know how I made it from your cold body to my bed without waking
1 am So this is what you will look like when you die