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