I loved this little book of poems so much that I didn’t really want to share it with anyone else. Anne Caldwell’s poems range in subject from the deeply personal to much more universal matters. Somehow she manages to articulate all the things about a miscarriage that I’ve not managed to say over 40 years.
She strokes their stomachs with her forefinger
Tomorrow or the next day,
Their small sarcophagi will be opened forever.
She will hold their wee bodies to the sun,
breathe their scent, like freshly cut hay.
from Incubating Twins