Blackbird Counts

Fourth post, a Poem of Loss (miscarriage)

I have been pregnant 6 times in my life and only gone on to birth 2 babies (for which I am eternally grateful!) Losing a child (including through making the decision to terminate), even very early on in pregnancy can be a very painful thing and I often return to the complex feeling of loss in my poetry. I am moving towards to end of my fertility (which has its own set of issues!) and to remember the agony of these losses is startling. 

The poem below was first published by Radar winter 2019 and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. 

Ink and graphite sketch

Blackbird Counts 

the blackbird
its body the black leather purse
of broom
beak open in yellow song

I believed in my body 

the song swells and retracts 
his heart packed tight 
like a clamped bud
treasure deep in his dark chest 

I count my losses, 
losses that have left me dented 
I find myself a stranger 
a hollow form 

I plaster rowan leaves
on breasts and belly 
arm myself with their serrations 

six times is enough for anyone 

snip snip 
little shoots 

blackbird fans the ground 
to turn the mulch, seeks worms 
and maggots. Those that comb 
soil with their bodies 

I think of four deaths 

he counts many more 
than four 
with his accurate beak