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Miscarriage

by
 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.

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