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.
How sad and morbid and kind and sensitive of you to think of this.