his fingers in my hair would be
the sweetest of mercies
but he is not here
not even a silent shadow
in the bedside chair

dressed in hospital blue
I read a pamphlet about cervical cancer
to distract my mind
from the life leaking out of me
oceans of dead black blood

it is not cancer
only circumstance
rearranging the runes
that spell out my future

there are other concerns now
beyond middle names
blue or pink
college funds

this room is too clean too white
the sheets are itchy
everything hurts

the bright lights the small bed
my empty hands

the phone is a cinder block
heavy with questions

there is no man waiting for me
in the waiting room

a stranger paces
asks the nurses if I’ll be okay

some young good Samaritan
who doesn’t know me
who has never even touched me

except to lift and carry me
to a warm car
to drive me to a hospital
cold as an unmarked grave
quiet as the child
who will never be born

One thought on “Miscarriage”

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