Miscarriage

   ghosts of blue hands

                    pressed

            onto fogged glass windows

                    bubble-gum smell

            from the ventilator

                    caked into the carpet

            sugar fibers beneath my toes

 

            in the snow, a pigeon’s

                    egg, red spilled out

            on the crystal white

                    stomach pains

            snaked around my

                    abdomen--

 

            it’s like Thanksgiving dinner

                    and the sweet potatoes are too much

            I’ll smash the china plates

                    hoard the jagged shards

            to build you a house

                    hidden beneath

            my cherry wood table. I’ll burn

 

            the turkey until it crisps

                    red, boil the gravy

            in a silver pot

                    and spoon-feed

            the meal to you

                    just the way you like

            down in our pretty little house

 

            wind blows the egg shell over

                    I bend purple knees

            to reach for it with my hand

                    hold

            the fiery life

                    that once lived inside

            some cracked dream

 

            footprints in the snow

                    I find wheezing

            grass, tenderly packed soil

                    still burdened

            by the wintry kiss

                    wet iris petals

            soiled in dirt’s embrace