All animals have blood hearts
Omnia animalia sanguine* corda
All animals have blood in their hearts
Sanguine is no longer meaty. We have squeezed out the blood. Lobbed off ventricles and arteries to leave just an outline <3
Our animal hearts once bloody / bloodthirsty now tamed to optimism.
* Sanguine, adjective
1: marked by eager hopefulness : confidently optimistic
2: bloodred
3a: consisting of or relating to blood
b: bloodthirsty, sanguinary
c: accompanied by, involving, or relating to bloodshed : bloody
d: of the complexion : ruddy
4: having blood as the predominating bodily humor
Sanguine, noun
: a moderate to strong red
(12/2/24)
This morning I woke to blood. Rust and thick. The nurse said it was nothing to worry about, to call back if it turned bright red. How much of her day is filled with this forced sanguinity? Not to worry. Not to worry. Stay optimistic. Plenty of women have healthy pregnancies well into their forties.
(12/3/24)
Another day starts with a slight slicked smear. Pink now—not yet the meaty red I was warned of.
(12/4/24)
My blood-–now thick, dark. Not bright but fluid. Soaking. Pooling. My blood pools this morning. Last night my legs were striped with bruise. Blood pools under my skin. My blood cannot carry iron. I cannot carry oxygen. This blood, all washed and washing down my legs—another failure to carry. My carriage fails. I flail in the loss of my carriage. I flail and flog. Starved for oxygen. Take my meaty ventricles and shove them back in. Pushed into a shape. Formed. What cannot be formed inside me, spools down my legs. My animal heart beats. My animal carriage carries my loss. <3
(12/5/24)
The nurse I spoke to yesterday was somber. I have an order for bloodwork. My blood will be worked into a tube. Filled into the form of a rounded end cylinder. A piped shape, cylinder with hollow space inside. Quantities of hormone will be measured. Blood type checked. My blood continues—a slow flow. I am no longer told not to worry. My worry forms and reforms.
(12/6/24)
My hormones linger, elevated. My blood continues, unabated. Return in 48 hours for a retest. Another forming of blood, working. Confirmation of miscarriage. My unhinged carriage.
This word comes from 1640.
mis-, “mistakenly, wrongly or badly”
-carriage, “means of conveyance.”
A softening of the Latin abortum.
Social policy and norms in the 1640’s called for an alternative term. Until then, all pregnancy loss was grouped as ‘abortion.’
Harden the softening:
mis-: erratum
-carriage: raeda
Erratum Raeda: in six movements
I. My error carriage. An error in my carriage. My carriage cannot sustain. An injury to my carriage.
II. A wheeled carriage with off spun wheel.
III. Spin my blood into a carriage of flesh. Of tissue. The tissue that lets loose from my carriage.
IV. The blood that wheels and wheezes out of my cervix.
V. The blood and tissue that spills down my legs. My legs cannot sustain my carriage. I sink into a seat. Not a carriage seat. The seat of my couch.
VI. My carriage is filled and unfilled. Unwilled. Unwheeled. Unspooled.
(12/7/24)
Before this time of blood / loss, my heart went ahead. Heaved its heft and pressed against a child. My heart—now recalled. Formed back into a shape. Pressed back into my hollow.
Erasure source: Collar, W. C. (William Coe)., Daniell, M. Grant (Moses Grant)., Ginn and Company. (1893/1886). The beginner’s Latin book. Boston: Ginn & Company.
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Molly Akin is a writer and director of a historic library on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Her chapbook, Hospice, was selected for the 2024 Finishing Line Press New Women’s Voices Prize. She has read in venues including the Emily Dickinson Museum, Fine Arts Work Center, Massachusetts Poetry Festival, New England Poetry Club, and What the Universe Is. Molly’s writing has been supported by Massachusetts Cultural Council, Sundress Academy for the Arts, and Fine Arts Work Center.


16 comments
Pankaj says:
Sep 13, 2025
This is a beautifully written and profoundly moving piece. The way you capture the quiet, tense atmosphere of a hospital and the flood of memories is incredibly powerful. Thank you for sharing something so personal with such grace.
Reading this as an expat in the UAE, it strikes a particularly deep chord. For millions of us working far from our home countries, a phone call about a parent’s health is a constant, underlying fear. The piece powerfully evokes that feeling of distance and the desperate need to be there.
Molly Akin says:
Sep 18, 2025
Thank you for reading and sharing your experience with the piece, Pankaj. Sending care to you and others far from loved ones.
Judith van Praag says:
Sep 18, 2025
Dear Molly, Finding this, after reading today, September 18, 2025’s post on what I’ve called automatic handwriting, following the Dadaists’ lead, memories are triggered, not of the full term loss, but the subsequent four miscarriages. The last was called an abortion by a Resident in the hospital. Six abortions, he said, looking at my history chart. I screamed for him to leave my room. I had one assisted abortion, one loss at full gestation, and four miscarriages to my name.
I’m sorry for your loss(es), but like your style, and the acknowledgment of the raw.
The Art.
My heart and thoughts go out to you, wishing you goodness, the best.
Molly Akin says:
Sep 19, 2025
Thank you for reading my work and sharing your story, Judith. I am sorry for your losses and the compounding sorrow of the hospital experience. Sending care your way.
Colleen Hull Gray says:
Sep 21, 2025
Dear Molly,
The form you used is so powerful. I am so sorry for your loss and so profoundly sad. I’m not expressing myself very well. Please know I am so grateful you wrote this piece.
Molly Akin says:
Sep 25, 2025
Thank you for reading my work Colleen. I am so glad to hear the piece was meaningful for you.
Mona Voelkel says:
Sep 22, 2025
I am profoundly sorry for your loss. I, too, have lost a child and this essay, especially these lines: “Before this time of blood / loss, my heart went ahead” touched me deeply. Wishing you the best and thank you for this essay!
Molly Akin says:
Sep 25, 2025
Thank you for your kind words, Mona. I am sorry for your loss. Sending care your way.
Avoca Code says:
Sep 25, 2025
This piece is both heartbreaking and beautifully written. Thank you for putting such a painful experience into words with so much honesty and grace.
Molly Akin says:
Oct 2, 2025
Thank you for reading and for your kind words, Avoca.
Hilton Glove says:
Nov 6, 2025
Beautiful piece, the words and imagery blended so sharply they stayed with me long after reading. Thanks for sharing this thoughtful, moving work!
Kalpana says:
Nov 7, 2025
Molly, This piece was difficult to read. I know my eyes jumped over bits of it simply because of the heartache each fragment carried. Thank you for this terrific piece of work.
Kalpana says:
Nov 7, 2025
I guess there isn’t a person who hasn’t read Ariel Levy’s Thanksgiving in Mongolia. Your piece took me there….
Sienna says:
Dec 9, 2025
Incredible – I love the fragmentation and translation and censoring combined with the raw, bloody truth.
Grier says:
Jan 1, 2026
This is moving and beautifully crafted. Thank you for sharing your experience and your talent.
Natasha Williams says:
Jan 2, 2026
Love seeing this piece ” tamed to opitimism” in Brevity.