Points of light--almost fireflies searching for someone, mate or prey--but then, empty air between cries. Internal eye pressure mimics action. Like you, who stopped being two weeks ago, still tucked inside. On the medical screen, a rounded sac, galactic space debris. That particular silence that lacks a second heartbeat.
Words’ rhythm originates in blood flow, the opening and closing of chambers. Internal iambic pentameter. Here I am with one song left. The doctor probes, searches for you where you were.
Removal: three vaginal pills for $4.35, 1 sick day, generic pain medication, hot water bottle and tea. Removed with a doctor’s script. The opening and closing; release. Goodbye, my sweet.
The noun miscarriage conducts images like electricity. My mother pushed her baby in a tall, navy carriage. Here sunshine, there a new bonnet. Even night rocking. Shocks, seen and unseen beneath the tires.