Flicker

i don't know when i last wrote a poem, but i was bustling around yesterday and suddenly felt that old call, the urgency of words pushing against my hands. This is for my three friends, and for women.

----

Once a week for three weeks

my friends' babies died within them.

Pulsing energy

then lost in silence.

Searching on a screen

poised over a belly,

one, two, three.

Still.

My friends' hearts beating faster, faster,

then

slower,

stopped in agony and in empathy

with their little beloveds.

Shared blood, shared stillness.

Ringing ears giving way to

equal silence.

i remembered a woman in a small dark room

(i don't know why i forget her,

she always comes back to mind with urgency,

reminding me that i've forgotten)

with a screen poised over my belly

as she chatters, chatters, and then

silent.

Turning the screen to me-

breaking the rules-

she points,

pantomimes:

her hand presses her chest twice

then away

touches twice

then away-

thump/thump

thump/thump

my/child

bright/spark

alive.

i stared at the flutter on the screen but

i wanted to watch her-

this rogue stranger-

risking her security for my peace.

i don't remember her name.

i hold my boy to me when he cries,

our hearts facing,

rhythms different.

His doesn't stop, though mine often does.

i watch him when he sleeps,

so silent and still that

fear says

'He has slipped away.'

i do not breathe,

i press my hand to his chest-

in/out in/out

He is here.

i know he is a rare creature,

millions like him are born all the time,

millions of rare creatures

that kept pulsing

when their friends did not.

Every time a little heart stops inside a woman,

more than life is lost:

Peace is lost for every woman who knows.

There is no security

with a child inside.

Wild need of it makes us

break rules,

scrabble,

go rogue-

grip it when we can, give it as often.

i hold my boy to me when i cry

for friends of mine

who lost,

friends of his

who were lost,

for peace lost.

Beat/on.

Hold/fast.

Live/full.

Burn, spark.