my fingers spread wide across my cheeks
and my lips part slightly in paralysis
the pen has frightened me
i cannot misread words that are on the page
as well as i can blur them while in my brain
something about death and longing
resentment and fear
relief and abiding
this is as good as i can do tonight
the rest must stay trapped
between me and god
and shared reluctantly
in fits and bursts by her graveside
Less Than 1%: Surviving My Stillborn 