Tag Archives: stillborn

~lesser than

half-moon belly
slight curve
ceased

like lost night
to mourning’s bright
light

churchdoves flew
the steeple
this ninth day
of august

your body
gone from me

tiny wings flutter
aloft

slow hours
blue a dying field

a solitary pilgrimage
follows the holy fog

nearer the breath of god

RIP JonThomas
By Lori Hamilton, © 2015, All rights reserved.

~rue

to be a lonely tree on a lonely hill
rooted deep with grief

what once connects to me, leaves

august grieves
again, the weightless fall
small hours of my mourning

watch a whitewashed woman in her
uncertainty fade with the fog
her aimless stroll
her milk-heavy ache

watch the warbler, bare-breasted
nesting wheat with tangled verses

threading condolence the color
of poetry

lah  7.8.15

~phases

 

 

age: 27
black naturally forgets
it is a color
and simply assumes a space

forgets our necessary moon

          those lies

age: 6
flesh swells from manipulation
of being picked
too soon

unripe cherries still bleed

age:17
in the beginning
I was naked hands
and suspicious hips

a half-announced uprush
of choice words and
introspection

the salvage of saltwind

an unsmiling sun

age: 35
freckles connect on
unfolded thighs
an arc of pelvis

shifting weight is lifted
with a buoyancy of bodies
shaped like patience

and monogamy

now my foot is snared

age:45
scatter the ashes
rupture the heart

a muddy ohio river
is too narrow to hold

this many dead souls

age: 39
in the mirror I whisper to a creased
reflection

there are reasons for
stone pillows and
pale wildflowers

and bottoms of bacardi bottles
where it hurts to breathe

tiny bodies at rest

the incurable in-
between

age:13
blue words always dissolve
in ink and water

©  lori hamilton

~vilomah

 

 

uprooted seed sprouts

     grown out of season

I planted you in a womanly garden

nestled among the grounding

you were my womb-flowers

summer-blue blossoms not to be

opened

     the wing flutter

     of august afterpastures

and I longed for your scent

     soft petals against my breast

     small swallows of milkweed

fallow the deathfields where we bury

innocence

hold strong, the streamwaters

that carry a stillborn

     tidebound

swim upward, float on

now

dwell unbloomed within the arc

     a living peace of sky

     forever vined to

     my mourning

©  lori hamilton