Gazing Across Venous Lake

The first glimpse
of my daughter
showed nothing I’d been dreading—
a carrot-thin, three-toed, faceless thing

but instead confirmed my luck,
my baby’s every bit
intact,
perfectly formed.

Yet in that first ultrasound,
along the uterine wall—
a shadow
a pool of blood

a site where past and future
had fought, a whole
evolutionary struggle:

a venous lake,
possible site of a twin
now gone,
now history.

I didn’t mourn anyone that day

but kept looking across that lake
again    again    again

studied the grainy xerox,
the cheekbones
the curl of her fist

searched for traces of damage

found none

her first loss so deep in her bones
I’d never see it

the separation already begun.