new zealand electronic poetry centre

 

Bill Manhire


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MISCARRIAGE

In the year most of the girls
started wearing bright colours,
my youngest daughter wore gray.
She sat up late, reading the paper,
nursing her terrible temper.

A lot of it slips
my mind now, but one night
her beauty slowly dawned on me;
then dawn came too
and her place was empty.

Where had she gone?
Was she lost in the headlines?
I think she must have slipped out
while I was reading something
over her shoulder.

ęBill Manhire


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Last updated 11 July, 2001