Under Construction

Miscarried

Days after, the world was drenched of sad eyes
that wanted to apologize
for things they’d never done.

Now, your boyfriend won’t look at you with your red hair
mimicking a pool of blood, the same  
that dribbled out onto your thighs.

Each strand whispering to him ‘it’s her fault.’
He thinks your drunk on your own pain
and he’s drunk on the real stuff.

So, the heart wants to cave, close in.
You’re imagining tiny feet, tiny fingers
wrapping themselves around yours.

You’re imagining giving it a name
instead of calling it,
it.. like some unknown object.

Now, his hand’s against your stomach
in a warm shame
and your palm’s against your stomach
as cold hatred.

It felt my womb long enough to decide it didn’t want to stay.

Babies who only make it as leftover guts
staining a white porcelain throne
like dead skin, bruised and flushed away.

An overthrown-by-your-body unknown king or queen
with their bloodshed legacy beating
like the hooves of warhorses against your heart.

Half of me is missing.

I am in love with eyes never seen,
In love with a smile never kissed
In love with hands never held,
In love with lungs that never took a breath,
In love with all the things I broke before they
were ever able to form.

If only I could have carried our baby,
the way I carry this regret.