Undelivered
Today is culling day for the undelivered; vacuum cupping a hairless skull. I feel you exiting my groin, bit by bit. Bundles of puce membrane flop out over entrails, squeezing lungs through brittle ribcages too shallow to bear your breath, too soon to unmother you. Was your face veiled, your belly tethered, your cry unslapped? You are only questions. If I could hold you, coax your chest open, blood-fill each pulse-less chamber and lay it plump as a pillow under mine, I would. Not within flattened flesh will I mend you; fuse fontanels, salvage from a bucket your limbs, knit sinew to bone, make you intact as you began, offer your fractured heart the empty whole of mine.
8 replies on “Undelivered”
Thank you! Beautiful, heartbreaking, brilliant! Thank you! I’m a psychotherapist and writer who wii share this with those who will be moved.
Thank you so much, Merle, for reading and replying. And thank you also for sharing this poem, a poem I for a long time couldn’t revisit but now find comfort in.
Deeply moving because, though the images are authentic and vivid, your emotions are restrained, yet warm and caring. The last stanza is breathtaking. You are a fine poet Maeve.
Gosh, Nola, many, many thanks for this feedback. I really appreciate your close reading and kind comments.
“You are only questions” breaks me open. A very difficult subject to write about, rarely addressed.You captured both brutal reality and great tenderness.
Thank you, dear Barbara.
Oh my God, Maeve. This broke me. I had a miscarriage and when you say ‘you are only questions’ – yes, yes, yes. i’m sending you so much love for writing this. Heart full, heart empty.
Thank you, dear Shazaf.
I am returning your love with gratitude and caring. Thank you for this feedback,