Miscarriages (Or The Bird And Other Things)

I killed a bird once.
I smashed it with my fist
and it died right there –
it didn’t even quiver.
I took it out into the garden
and buried it,
like you’re supposed to.
I squeezed it,
felt a bone crack.
I buried it that way.

I went back into the house
to find flour,
a white dome
with red petals.
I thought they were raisins.
My mother told me
everything was fine
but fell onto the floor
like a cartoon character
and the flour
bled.

Miscarriages (Or The Bird And Other Things)

The doctors said I could have
had a sister, that’s why mum
threw up every morning.
The doctors said, we need
to call your father, son,
I said, go for it,
he’s probably out back
with the bird

and my bloodied hand
with that cracked bone
beneath the dirt.