Every 28 Days: A Rememory



Day 6: Harder now

There is a baby coming out of me 

I’m in conversation about the weather and summer is soon 

I can feel my baby coming out of me

I thought I needed to get out of the house 

No one tells you it takes days

That you go back to work and bleed out tissue 

Your students ask questions 

You take notes at staffing 

Small talk by the copy machine 

And all the while small pieces of a dream 

Small pieces of him and me

I talk to my mom on the way home

Text my sister

Order an Easter ham

Listen loud to a song on the drive home

Hard not to be


The windows down

It’s winding down

Smile at the old man bagging my groceries 

Coconut water







Day 267


Made my mouth just big enough

to fit my own fist


cracked corners

of my lips stretching

around both fists


Our kisses are just tears and teeth


Don’t make sound

don’t say a word


I haven’t put things in the proper place for months now


Every room feels wrong

Even when I’m feeling with my fingers

Hands wringing

tongue gliding over wood

Touching my way through each room


Am I looking for a word or a face


We’re so far out now past home


Try one more time to touch

but it’s so goddamn hot in here


that thing we lost


It was a tectonic plate shifting


a small whirl of water


then the tsunami

Day 188

It’s probably better this way.

Dozen eggs

Chicken breasts

I can drink beer

Diaper size menstrual pads

I have to wear to catch the remains

I kiss cheeks and asks about everyone’s day

I help my daughter with her composition

We laugh at a memory

He spoons another scoop of potatoes

on my plate

Please eat

We yell at the newscast

I wash 

He rinses

We lean in

We lose

Where to fit it all

How did I fit it all

The audacity

of a full day

with a little death 

Squeezed in 



Only a broken bridge between who we are

And all the screaming


Jasmine Jones is a Mama, a teacher, a daughter, and a friend. She lives with her family close to, but not close enough to, a beach in Tampa, FL.