First published by Corporeal Literary Magazine. 

Content Warning: miscarriage

 

you imagine it’s a slow bleed

a movie slo-mo captured gush of placenta 

and fetus and cord and ruby lipstick red

but it’s rather drawn out like a swollen drop

of frozen rain at the tip of an icicle

on the edge of the gutter

                                     hanging 

        on the 

                    precipice

 

its slipperiness bubbling up, bloating

before losing its grip and sliding

                               down

                                       your

                                                 cervix

 

it’s just the one drop 

at first, unexpected, 

                      a soft, pretty pink tinge,       lingering

on your double ply

don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic

the midwife says nothing to do but

                            wait

                                   it

                                             out.

 

another drip of the thawing crystal cone

and another

                        drip

                              drip

                                    drip

 

and when it finally releases

from that guttural uterine wall

it does not crash out of you

it does not shatter

     into tiny 

    d  i  a  m  o  n  d  s 

 

it oozes, a torturous melting

    seeping through the body

not an ejection

         but a 

                 birth