her maternity photos
are so glowing… hopeful….confident…
committed to an inevitable happy ending
i cringe and i rage at them
i curse facebook and fairytales
and a storm kicks up dust around my insides
— but i do not tell him
my grief suffocates us, and his lungs are short
so my thoughts stay hidden
our marriage starts to grow a mold
around silence he misses or misunderstands
i stare at him across the kitchen table
trying to place the man he was before she died
but it is an unbearable thought
so i quietly push it the side,
serve a plate of his favorite lasagna
and ask him how his day was
Less Than 1%: Surviving My Stillborn 