Post Miscarriage

Yesterday was an unsettled day. Work went well, but after that I was restless and bored and couldn’t sit still. By evening, I was starting to feel down. Then I posted here about my WordPress issues, and–something shifted. For one thing, a number of readers responded. Thank you so much! This had been a quiet place for a few days. Not a worry; I am a specialist, not general interest. Still, it came as good news. And then–this might come across as questionable, but keep reading…

One of my real-life friends–an ex-boyfriend–had been ill with cancer, and I knew he didn’t have long. We were no longer close; I hadn’t even seen him in several years, but we had spoken on the phone. I started to feel that I should call him, but I didn’t really want to. He was in a bossy mood the last time, and we had grown far enough apart that I didn’t want to activate anything from the past. I figured he would last until spring, but the persistent thoughts kept at me until I searched out his name. Spring came for him a few weeks ago. No one thought to tell me–as I said, we weren’t that close. Even so, I am usually quite intuitive, so why didn’t I see or hear from him when he crossed over? That happens often enough.

All is well here. He is out of the hospital permanently, and out of whatever other trouble he had on his mind. I am sitting here with the usual thoughts: I’ll never see his number on my phone or feel guilty for not calling; I’ll never have to remind myself to talk to him about his topics, not mine, which he had no time for; I’ll probably never see certain stretches of excellent beachcombing beach again. Soon I will put it all behind me, the good and the bad. I have too much to look forward to.

And after what I learned last night, I dreamed, and retrieved more of the dream than just a blip. For the first time in ages, I knew who and what I had been dreaming about. A woman close to me had just lost her husband, and we were all upset and worried about what his loss would mean not only to her, but to all of us. After waking and considering, I am pretty sure that woman was me in an alternate life, one that didn’t happen.

Here is the latest dispatch from the life that did happen, the poetic one. The ‘miscarriage’ here was or would have been a suicide, not a cast embryo. So much of the underlying message that comes through the poems is wait, be patient, this is not the end. Even when it is. Always a paradox….

25 February 2021


Post Miscarriage

Flag of red and rose of silver

moonlight on the flooded lawn

shivers cover over skin of

milky brightness not a dawn

ever breeches but it darkens

someone whiter far than snow

nothing ever really sorrows

harder than that heart you know

blood flowed out and then pure poison

emptied all the veins that ran

through a hollow darkness soil and

source become a bloody man

in her hand a cloth unfolded

by her mother late last night

under silver moonlight’s oldest

rule of when to dress in white

and when to wait till all the blood has

done its deed again and she

rises up an unsuccumbed and

stainless virgin mystery

minded by the lore a forest

sheltered as a new Moon rose

over you a blue seashore and

mermaid wearing seashell clothes

a flag of red within one waving

hand as deep beneath you drown

otherwise she’s come to save you

let her pull you further down

through the water of the ocean

over you a far light shines

drifting nearer very slowly

skin alive with written lines

witnessed body music looming

out of love’s accustomed garb

silent silver former human

male remains shine hard her star


About J

formal verse poetry and commentary at
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