Waiting Room In a Maternity Ward
A waiting room in the maternity ward
As I wait for the new life to begin.
Waiting room of the world.
A careless mess. Freudian slips of paper
Paper and ink my refuge
Has now become my back alley abortionist.
You lie on the sofa, curled up.
I stop to watch you sleep
While ghastly mobile twirls above your dreams
Have been spun by me.
I’ll live with myself. I have to painfully
A mother with a dead baby in its womb
My first trimester.
Knowing I killed.
Almost there – almost made it – almost alive
You will wake older than you were ever meant to feel.
Childless.
But will you try again?
As I wait for the new life to begin.
Waiting room of the world.
A careless mess. Freudian slips of paper
Paper and ink my refuge
Has now become my back alley abortionist.
You lie on the sofa, curled up.
I stop to watch you sleep
While ghastly mobile twirls above your dreams
Have been spun by me.
I’ll live with myself. I have to painfully
A mother with a dead baby in its womb
My first trimester.
Knowing I killed.
Almost there – almost made it – almost alive
You will wake older than you were ever meant to feel.
Childless.
But will you try again?
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