Miscarriage
When I first said I was bleeding your face changed,
then we went on as before.
Watched comedies on television
stuffed vegetables in the vegetable drawer.
It wasn’t until you saw blood in the toilet
and saw the red unfurl, that you let the sadness in.
A doctor, you’re used to seeing red on white.
You know what lives under skin.
Medical sadness waits upon sight;
whereas mine, a mole, needs no light.
Every month women practice for this—
casual loss as a regular thing—
women bleed in private like animals,
men bleed in public like kings.