he looks good
and there’s nowhere to celebrate
the edges of my body fray
and a traffic jam forms the length of my whole being,
a being that doesn’t even belong
to me anymore
the burden of doing other people’s jobs
to keep my child alive
packs layers and layers of bricks on my shoulders,
building a house
i did not ask to live in
i got good news today
but there is no relief from worry
there is no place to celebrate
so i go and sit by her grave
and choose to weep instead
Less Than 1%: Surviving My Stillborn 