After the Miscarriage

Every day I study the photo

of the jungle, the limp monkey expressionless

who used to cover her young with kisses

and paralyze them comfortably with some kind

of precious jungle knowing. This time the wild

howl of the mother whose thin arms looped

like ropes around her blinking baby this time

she might really have fallen far from the tree.

Her throaty murmur is now a crescendo

of ache that could be mistaken for ecstasy

except the baby is gone and her eyes

from here look empty.

Alicia Fisher, copyright 2011