Your Name
Heavy on my tongue,
hard candy that doesn’t
melt or sweeten,
the taste of old pennies
in spring water.
Once I shared it with others–
and you sparkled, floating, dust
motes in light.
Many women miscarry,
my doctor says.
Within my silence
a tiny black coffin
Imagining your face–
at one, at ten, at thirteen–
anchors me–
then your features fade,
sand beneath salt waves
Shifting, half seen–
a ghost I create–
to give birth
to you again
and again
*
Jennifer Mills Kerr is the founder & lead teacher of A World in a Line, an organization that inspires poets from around the world through virtual workshops. Lit-amorous, she’s on a perpetual quest for the next amazing poem to read, savor, and share. Connect with her at JenniferMillsKerr.com