I can press my womanhood into the void

Ghost imprint in
the wall holds a
hand shape

Small boy
presses into
brick and mortar
to disappear

Invisibly thin
sucking in
his air – forgets to
release an exhale

No noise
invisible boy
becomes
fresh paint

As he dries on
the breath
of someone
who should not—
have touched

When I see the imprint
the two lips of innocence
left ages ago
yet just yesterday

I feel a need
to fill them with
my collagen patties
if I do I might know
him as the son

I birthed, the namesake
of my brittle womb
crying out all
night in terror

He survived.
I know the glint
of fire perseveres
within the covey
of his mind
reflects the iris
in his eye—

But I am
in the depression

Filling the mold
with my belly
and breasts

Getting rounder
by the month

I can hold his
safety paramount

Give birth to a
new boy, one
who does not reside
in the peeling residue

One whose memories
we did manage to burn.

One whose momma
is in the wall here;

All her waters
returned.

 

 

“Parto en el agua. ¿Sí o no? http://bit.ly/parto-agua”by fertilidad is licensed under CC0 1.0

Elisabeth Horan

Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She writes to survive and survives to write - We are all battling something. Let's support each other. Elisabeth enjoys riding horses and caring for her cats, chickens, goats and children (not necessarily in that order). She teaches at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire.

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