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Currajah

[a Walleah Press blog]

 

LUCY WILLIAMS

    miscarriage

We lost you, tiny immigrant

as you negotiated with the gods

of chance or nature to stay

I read about your arrival

as though you were a prophet

I read until I knew too well

all the things that could go wrong

sometimes I would think of you

ready to be born, your father struck dumb

by the sudden weight of love

as you leave my body

and find him waiting

I'm sorry you don't get to meet him

that history keeps you unfinished

under wraps

I'm sorry you will never learn

about the human heart – unbuttoned

like a giant pocket

and all the things that spill

every time we trip

and all the things that stay.