Content warning: miscarriage
I thought you were something
But you are nothing.
Not nothing, but not the thing
I want you to be.
You’re a heavy absence,
Blackness on the screen.
Languid, yet visible void,
Sac within a sac.
Dotted lines mark the place
You should have been.
A pirate’s map marks an empty
treasure chest.
Time tussled with space:
Five, six, seven, eight …
X by X millimetres.
Sure of your dates?
I thought you were coming
But you are going.
Not going, but coming
Away from me.