Three Hours after the Miscarriage in Thailand
The more I wait The more I wait The bamboo house empties rivers and paddy fields And fistulas of barren rice Does time bleed? As I have bled? Can the scent of lime and The smell of bird fat roasting Cleanse the black pudding of the morning? Those clotted clumps of memory Turn red and black and asphalt What cannot be cannot come again. The people that could have been. The ransomed lives unfought for and unspent. There is darkness around the electric charge of food A forked incandescence My mouth salted like the furrow of sand
—Gabriel Olearnik
Gabriel Olearnik studied medieval history at University College
London. He is currently an attorney and practices corporate law.
