stillborn by Chlesea Balzer

night heaves its weight
at the half-wild farm.

I have filled my day with words
no one would sing —

sadness like tussocks parading the ground.
today the crisis could not take me.

my body became new machinery.
finally alone with it, I turn in.

each feeling needs all of the senses.
denial has done the hard work

of admitting only the truth I could hear.
it held the heavy base of a joy I mistook as my own.

now handed over, I take up the pain:
burst balloon. rinse torn tissue away.

not all blood is a sign of injury —
the body’s doors open.

we cannot say when a thing
must be put back, buried, begun.

some babies are born on the kitchen floor
in the swift grace of choicelessness.

our ask is to lay out soft blankets
and wait with what’s in labor,

to recycle the pleasure that’s passed.
sighing back breaches of sorrow,

I lie down next to its face
and hum.

 

Chelsea Balzer is a therapist, writer, and the founder of Big Feels Lab, an organization empowering people to heal from injustice together. Her writing has been featured in a variety of publications including Elephant Journal, Plainsongs, Cigar City, and Omaha Magazine, and her debut book, A PITY PARTY IS STILL A PARTY, is forthcoming from Harper Wave. Follow her work at chelseabalzer.com or on instagram at @theconnectionartist.

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