Miscarriage Of Inconvenience

I paid for change with pain

over every word I prayed

for Leah, my wife,

but she strode out the door.

Leah held his hand

the way she’d held my hand

back before the miscarriage.

Overwhelmed, I lay on the bathroom floor.

Sleeping on the marital bed made me puke

in a toilet bowl and punch a pillow.

The voices of Leah’s orgasms screamed

as these four walls revealed nothing,

so they’d better fucking listen to me.

I packed my shit and said goodbye,

and I hope you fucking die.

That’s what I told this home—our home.

We spent our savings on this place

that was to be the end of us.

I leased a cheap apartment.

Me, thinking about that old house?

Don’t make me cackle to hide

the tears that sadness released.

That old house,

I told myself I never wanted it, anyway.

We bought that home after sleeping

rough over passionate sex

in every room, including the closets.

A place we’d hoped forever

would stay between just us.

Us and no one else.

But what happened in the South

didn’t make front-page news.

If it did, they buried the lede.

After Leah lost the baby,

I wasn’t there for her—not nearly enough.

I spent more time shitfaced

over Redhook than embracing

what I had.

Leah blamed me, and so did I.

It was easier to blame myself than to admit

the baby wasn’t to come.

We’d painted the girl’s room pink.

Leah promised she’d love Dora the Explorer.

I needed someone to blame, so why not me?

I’m a goddamn cynic, anyway.

What I lost, I found in myself.

The separation guided me

to forgive myself

for the guilt of my blame.

I had to return home.

I’d even walk through the door,

and a restraining order, if there were one.

But we both know Leah’s scared,

not of me, but that she still loves me.

I freshened up and made my way to our home.

I peeked through the windows, seeing her soaked

in misery over a bottle of wine she hadn’t yet sipped.

I smiled and knocked on the door.

Leah brushed her tears and fluffed her hair.

Leah opened the door without asking

the identity of the person knocking.

Leah said she was sorry.

I said we could adopt or try again.

She invited me in and disrobed,

telling me she loved me more than life itself.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

X: AC0040