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Poetry | October 2010

Premature

By Clare Martin

The fetal body breaks loose
becomes a little boat
tethered to a harbor of machines.

Doctors say the hearts
of these children whisper-tick
like doll hearts: inconsistently.

Death can come as a whisper
blown across the cheek.

He will always be frail.

He has his father’s
un-feathered skin
and the bones of birds
that were my visitors
during a trimester of sleep.

Born to fit in my purse,
he is one singing coin
among many.

4 replies on “Premature”

katiesays:
October 4, 2010 at 6:21 am

so beautiful and and so sad at the same time, thanks for sharing this piece.

Reply
Kate Hoppersays:
October 4, 2010 at 8:16 am

Clare, this is lovely and heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing your beautiful words here. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Reply
Nic Sebastiansays:
October 5, 2010 at 8:08 pm

Lovely, Clare.

Reply
Clare says:
December 17, 2011 at 1:14 pm

Thank you all so much and to Literary Mama for publishing this poem. I come back to it from time to time. My son, the inspiration for this poem, is always on my mind. He died in 2004.

Reply

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