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Miscarriage

 Fold this, our daughter’s grave,
and seal it with your kiss.
For all the love I gave, you owe me this.
Inside of me, she had your lips and tongue, my air of grimness, thin and sad, with your thick hair.
Inside of you, I trust, she was a simple mesh of need and paper, lust – potential flesh.
And there was such pure song in life begun from you, I held the dead too long, as women do, but leaving like you did, when only I could feel the biding, body, bid of what was real, she’s put out with the cur, the garbage, heartache, cat.
Promise you’ll sing to her.
You owe me that.

by Jennifer Reeser
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