» Poetry

Trauma Bond in March: After the Miscarriage

for Chelsea


The tulips have flowered too early.

I cover the beds in white sheets

to keep them warm.


Frost pulled down from the stars

will soften

into a remembering


by morning. I am no mother

to the flowers or anyone.

It’s spring


and the world feels more delicate

than before.

Winter clipped. New wings lifting.


Doves adoring the sound

of their own song.

I have been told


some plants bloom once then die.

Flight is the answer,

though water can be an answer too.


Everybody (body) a vanishing act.

Seed without root.

And now the petals fall,


wishes to love

and love-me-not.

And now, the sound of distant laughter


enters my open window,

like ghosts. Softer now,

gentle weight of these small bones.


Kristene Kaye Brown

Kristene Kaye Brown is a mental health social worker. She earned her MFA from Ver- mont College of Fine Arts. Her work has most recently been published, or is forthcom- ing in Columbia Poetry Journal, Diagram, Gulf Stream, Harpur Palate, Meridian, Nim- rod, Nashville Review and others. She lives and works in Kansas City.