Stillborn by Jennifer O’Grady

How strange that I told you, after
coming in from play, how I wanted
a sister, had always wanted a sister,
the way children do.

That morning, driving home, the streets seemed achingly

And you, resting, rocking in the basement
near piles of tidily folded linens,
your oval face misting like the iron–
how long after did it hit me as tears?

vacant, like the space between my arms

Imagine, you carried that weight around–
pressed three years of creases
from the unused diapers I’d wear
like a white flag, or a tiny ghost.

4 Comments

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s