The Abortion

Fold this, our daughters grave, 
and seal it with your kiss. 
For all the love I gave, 
you owe me this. 

Inside of me, she had 
your lips and tongue, my air 
of grimness, thin and sad, 
with your thick hair. 

Inside of you, I trust, 
she was a simple mesh 
of need and paper, lust  
potential flesh. 

And there was such pure song 
in life begun from you, 
I held the dead too long, 
as women do, 

but leaving like you did, 
when only I could feel 
the biding, body, bid 
of what was real, 

shes put out with the cur, 
the garbage, heartache, cat. 
Promise youll sing to her. 
You owe me that. 

© Jennifer Reeser