Stirring : A Literary Collection

erika renee lanier


she was curled in a circle of bared still
skin on a silver tray at the end of my bed:
small, her hands closed
at her already paling lips. the room around us,
delicate, white curtains, the sharpness
of open windows, knives and cold water on my legs,
the doctor's words: your choice --

I imagined what my daughter's tiny shuffled sigh
would have sounded like, shattering as it fell, heavy,
touched the silver floor in one last shudder, the auburn
of would-be hair matching the blood that hovered
a breath or two above my spotless gown. My body

shook as I saw her, bright pink lids closing on blue

and when I woke,

my lover's hands were breathing my name,
wanting comfort in the small of my back
and his eyes, suddenly wide as my mouth,
gaping silence against a painfully rising sky --

erica lanier
Location: Boston, Massachusetts

Stirring : A Literary Collection

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