| Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-one Spring 2013 |
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| After the Miscarriage Jennifer Givhan I took to writing poems again, small ones without limbs thick, curly-haired, spindled from the roots. * I battered your prayers 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 fish, anemone, a green who could only sing underwater. |
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