TW: child loss/miscarriage
Love After Diagnosis
Things happen you never imagine could happen
snowed early and often Saturday after Saturday
redundant wonderland like heaven so bland
and pure I never thought I’d love her even when
the doctors said I would and the doctors whisper
together so I can’t hear their words covering
the city the yard the road in drifts so we cannot
leave and when we try to move forward we slide
sideways turn into it everyone says turn into it
I slam on the brakes I slam on the brakes
with all my weight but keep moving forward
snowed early and often Saturday after Saturday
redundant wonderland like heaven so bland
and pure I never thought I’d love her even when
the doctors said I would and the doctors whisper
together so I can’t hear their words covering
the city the yard the road in drifts so we cannot
leave and when we try to move forward we slide
sideways turn into it everyone says turn into it
I slam on the brakes I slam on the brakes
with all my weight but keep moving forward
Taxes
My daughter’s name drops off the screen.
The tax lady deletes, counts us,
returns.
God was skipping stitches
when He made my daughter.
We don’t all fit in
the cubicle, so my children
sit on the flat gray carpet
eating chips from a backpack.
Let’s do a head count.
How many children do you have?
We have six.
We have had six.
We have five.
I do not have any of my children.
The tax lady says that doesn’t fit
in the box on her computer.
There are only two spaces,
have or have not.
Let’s just round up, she suggests.
My daughter’s name highlights yellow.
Her name pops off the screen.
They turned the screens away
as the life support was cut
with a click.
The lines stitching for months across
the screen went flat.
How many children do you have?
The tax lady deletes, counts us,
returns.
God was skipping stitches
when He made my daughter.
We don’t all fit in
the cubicle, so my children
sit on the flat gray carpet
eating chips from a backpack.
Let’s do a head count.
How many children do you have?
We have six.
We have had six.
We have five.
I do not have any of my children.
The tax lady says that doesn’t fit
in the box on her computer.
There are only two spaces,
have or have not.
Let’s just round up, she suggests.
My daughter’s name highlights yellow.
Her name pops off the screen.
They turned the screens away
as the life support was cut
with a click.
The lines stitching for months across
the screen went flat.
How many children do you have?
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Renee EmersonRenee Emerson is the author of the poetry collections Keeping Me Still (Winter Goose Publishing 2014), Threshing Floor (Jacar Press 2016), and Church Ladies (Fernwood Press 2023). She is also the author of the chapbook The Commonplace Misfortunes of Everyday Plants (Belle Point Press 2023), and the middle grade novel Why Silas Miller Must Learn to Ride a Bike (Wintergoose Publishing 2022). She lives in the Midwest with her husband and children.
Substack: reneeemerson.substack.com Instagram: @reneeemersonwrites Twitter: @thisquiethour website: renee-emerson.com |