Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-one
Spring 2013
After the Miscarriage
Jennifer Givhan

I took to writing poems again,
small ones
without limbs

thick, curly-haired,
from the roots.


I battered your

cradled our distance
made love
to our silence.


You couldn’t stand my dog. She smelled
you said and belonged in a doghouse
not beside our bed.

You became a man
who hated the girl
who got me through

pelted, black-nosed
nights       after


You were a starfish,
a sand dollar,
a mermaid,

and I, a pool of slippery

a green
who could only sing

About Jennifer Givhan

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