November

reflections on the anniversary of my wife's miscarriage

On April 28th of last year, during a routine prenatal appointment, my wife, Lindsey, and I learned that she had a miscarriage.

A few weeks later, still trying to process everything, I sat at a coffee shop and, through tears, wrote this poem.

Now, a year later, I’m revisiting this and feel like it’s worth sharing. I feel very vulnerable sharing poetry here, but oh well. Maybe it will be meaningful for someone.

---

a strip of paper on the bathroom sink,
an image on a screen, 
the gear shift in my car trying to teach me something i won’t learn. 

fear to wonder.

i’ve been there before--
a cry breaking the silence, 
the first meeting of old friends, 
every stair. every rung. 
rising and falling to their rising and falling.

not here.

familiar fear gives way to new, 
the speaker screams the silence.
no steady rhythm that says i'm here
and i'll see you soon. 

the screen, our breath, all still
while the montage plays--

chests that will never touch, 
steps never taken, 
fear turning into wonder over and over again.
all of it 

stillness turns into darkness,
and i wonder-- 
did you ever hear my voice?