She slid so smoothly into the toilet.

And you didn’t know you would ache like that, with a baby-shaped sadness.

You didn’t know you would watch her wash out of you, that she would stain your bathroom rug red, and that you wouldn’t be able to move from that toilet–

too afraid of what else you would kill.

(I’m writing about my miscarriage over at Prodigal today… won’t you join me, here? Love you friends.)

**And don’t forget to join us tomorrow for Imperfect Prose on Thursdays! There will be NO PROMPT this week, or in the weeks following. We’re going back to the basics.

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