flowers die
it's preparation for what's to come
A sudden hollowness
down in the pit of my being.
A previously unexplored cave system
stalagmites of despondency,
and chokes of grief.
A placental abruption is what they called it.
the sudden breaking away of a portion from a mass.
Oceans of cherry blood in the middle of the night
gushing down from between my thighs.
A five second delay between the sight
and the instinct to grab towels, my shirt, the carpet,
anything to stop the bleeding.
My womb a bedding plane, no stability,
the ichor flows over ridges of tissue,
dissolving,
breaking,
dying.
The fracture of a portion
from a mass.
There’s this stupid valentine’s day trend that says “flowers die, give her a baby instead.”
Babies die too- we just don’t like to think about that.
I think I’ll give my daughters flower names like Dahlia, Iris, and Lily, and maybe that will cancel out that possibility.
How do you accept that fate is out of your hands when cradling your child in your own?
