Edna’s Miscarriage

She sat on the seat,
felt pain like cinderblocks
scrape her innards,
let some of the mess out
of her mouth to splash
the floor.

More, she let spill
into the pink toiet water,
sound like state-fair
ping-pong balls in goldfish cups.

She stood, wobble-kneed,
looked down, thought she
saw an arm, leg in the black
clotted mess. Wept.

The pain ended like punctuation. What is
left are the cuts under her heart
from the cinder block, gashes
in her iron stomach’s wall
that will puss, ooze, take
years to bruise.


Author: April Line Writing

Writing about whatever the f*ck I want.

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