The Viability of Conception
Dear [Pain Inside of Me] Never Meant to Be,
I guess I never even let you scratch the surface,
although I left a cutting edge.
The point is its obvious where you came from
+ when he came–
in full cry.
A purposeful burn,
but not one that can be explained
in casual conversation.
pleased + revolted me.
You made me double-over, dolorous, grinding,
burning + spinning, but I don’t lose my footing,
I guess I don’t think of you.
Until I see someone else’s protruding bulge.
She waddles. A half-smile of discomfort.
I don’t think of you.
Others might say I should. Just another statistic.
I don’t trust numbers.
Pile it on my list of could haves + should nots–
I don’t care what others say,
but my face goes red-hot
when that toddler holds his hand.
Neither here, nor there.
Yet, you transformed me.
Dreams + Imaginations are the clouds printed on
the receiving blanket I charged on my card that day.
Nine months feels like a second,
not the eternity of speechless seething remorse
expanding against me.
I can’t allow myself the fabrication
that’s sick–isn’t it?
–what a counterfeit.
Consistently we privatize
laws, rules + controversy, religion
facetiously–you make me
When they eject + evacuate,
they leave a piece behind in my cave
there will be no eulogy
for all to view.