loss/not loss

a few weeks ago, i wrote this poem which was a long time (8 years) coming. i’m an open book in general, with my music and poetry, but never wrote about this. it felt achingly private, but i’ve found a lot of solace reading of others’ similar experiences. and after listening to a talk here on substack about grief, i found it helpful to put this into words.

my first child was not born.

i didn’t talk about it.

i erased march from the calendar

and by april i was pregnant again.

from a distance,

a line with no break.

a pretty brush stroke,

maybe a bit pale

i know how to speak of pain

but not of this.

three times

i had to go in

and look at nothing growing

on the monitor.

someone/not someone

who would not leave my body.

after two weeks

and return to the world.

i swear i am unbroken.

i just know what that monitor means.

that december,

my daughter was born,

dainty, perfect.

the bandage for grief

is love.