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Poetry
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| Miscarriage | |
| By ailbhe | ||||
| 26 April 2005 | ||||
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Miscarriage You were the absence of blood where blood should have been: one blue hyphen, my failure of words. . Yours the language of a rhyming couplet the poet could not prose, yours the mistake that made bread or burnt toast. . All I had to offer was childhood in a moving car with the sound of argument, nose pressed against stricken hedgerows, . a hunched shoulder of grass the verge of a world where all grows unwieldy with weight, and my long silent recitation of what ifs... . Where blood should not have been, you were blood shed: you did not live.
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