Loss stares at her all the while,
Watching her eat, sleep,
Tickles her earlobe with a rough smile,
Coos baby breath in too deep.
Nature’s revolted, now chaos begs –
An empty womb worn for a face,
For nothing living can spawn from between her legs,
Not even a blue skeleton in the finest lace.
Her belly now is coffin-flat,
Sharpened swords and daggers substituted for eggs.
Ambition multiplies like rats,
Drinks heartily between her damp, parted legs.
Motherhood, a miscarried dream,
Dead in the eye of a woman unseamed.
From The Black Widow by Louise Worthington
Louise Worthington lives near Shrewsbury in the UK with her family and is a writer of horror, dark psychological fiction and poetry. She is a member of the HWA and the SFPA and a regular contributor to Pen of the Damned.
Her website is www.louise-worthington.com/ and her other social media links can be found here https://linktr.ee/louiseworthington
Enjoy all the POETRY SPOTLIGHT videos here.
I need more poetry!
Follow this link for submission guidelines.
This poem is featured on today’s episode of SPILLING THE INK along with special guest A.F. Stewart sharing wisom from her decade plus career as an independent author.