Loss (a poem)

I don't often share my fiction here, but I'm particularly excited about this poem, because it was just accepted into a local art/writing show at my area art gallery. It will be interpreted by a visual artist, and displayed along with a piece of visual art that I've interpreted into written art. It's a pretty neat concept, and I'm honored to be involved. Also? I'm pretty thrilled with how this bit of poetry turned out. I may just have to expand on it.


I was born in a rush of crimson on a white day in January.

Naked tree branches scrape the empty sky; an infant's screams pierce the snow-muffled


The child is lifted to the mother's breast the mother winces, spasms, blood gushes.

I am the afterbirth to my sister's anticipated coming.

"You have another daughter," the doctor says, surprise tingeing his voice. "Congratulations." But Mother's arms were already full.

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Voice / Text: 573-220-8601


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