My Baby Fell Apart

My baby fell apart, and I could see:
it was an awful vision of surrender.
There was no baby left inside of me.

I had learned not to see, when suddenly
the baby bent, a way I could not bend her.
My baby fell apart. Then I could see

her falling through a loud internal sea
away from the one place that still kept tender.
There was no baby left inside of me.

I fell apart; I couldn't even be
there for the loss. I lost a need to mend her.
My baby fell apart, and I could see

something of her who fell away from me,
but nothing to make me ever need to tend her.
There was no baby left inside of me.

I had no baby. I could not but see
the need to be apart from her, to end her.
My baby fell apart - and I could see.
There was no baby left inside of me.

Annie Finch

Annie Finch is the mother of Julian, the juggler, and Althea, the astronaut.

If you've any comments on this poem, Annie Finch would be pleased to hear from you. Or you can visit http://miavx1.muohio.edu/~finchar/