miscarriage

what carries you:                                 a rush of teeth                         nested scorpions

  I am empty
 
this                  when I wake before down                              
this                  as the light pinches through the windows
 
hold your arms out & you can
cradle anything
 
I’m in the ring                                     I am telling him it won’t be February
forever
 
see:
 
if you’re not careful                            you’ll be comforting him             before you know it
 
googling photographs of Mexican desert
like this I cradle
 
like this I mother                                the unmothered                       a stopped clock
 
when I wake from the anesthesia I ask                                               good?
and mean
 
I need to brush her hair                     can I go now please                her hair
 
the highway back home is foggy and I mean
empty
 
it is good to be empty                                a jug                                        a bowl
it is good to be a color in the morning
 
the jade plant turns violet
I turn away from the window
 
in my own hands I bloom and the blooming is empty:
 
a quarter moon past its prime             a wet I wipe from my jawline
 
this body
this address of muscles and palpitate

I’m a polite houseguest:
                                                                                     I rinse out my cup when I’m through with it