It’s as if a storm-grey bird
has come to roost inside you:
gravid and plump, of shifting shape,
black clacking beak, wounded
accusatory eyes.
Its weight is felt always.
Sometimes bearable,
sometimes not; but never
seceded or not yours to carry.
(Although you’ve come to recognise
it in the slippery gaze of others,
their sagging back-bones harbouring
engorged hearts.)
While shopping, exercising,
watching the other children play —
It curls, hard, against your ribs,
a dense and sobering canker;
your malformed babe.
First published in Michele Seminara’s latest publication, “HUSH” (Blank Rune Press, 2017).