four weeks

the silent swell of my belly

you are invisible, still, I imagine the lump above my hips

is the beginnings of you beginning to be.

You are no bigger than a speck, not even an embryo yet,

yet, you exist.

I know this, in the absence of blood,

in the frown upon the doctor's face

no congratulations for shame,

though in another context, this would be so great.

I run my fingers over the scar tissue

of where my naval ring used to be

I removed it so I could grow with you

without breaking

although I know now that is impossible.

I think of the colour of your eyes,

I think of what I would call you

if you were mine.

But baby, you won't even know my name.

I play fiddle music to you,

pretending you have ears and can hear

your father played the strings of my heart

so beautifully.

It is because he is a good man

I can't keep you.

I wish you could meet him.

You would have his expresso eyes and raven hair


He would make you laugh,

but he is but a child too,

as am I.

And baby, children don't make good parents.

Oh, I want you,

my body craves you, my breasts ache for you,

but you don't belong in my world.

I have you only to give you away.

Sometimes, I do dream of returning home

and showing the love that has grown inside of me,

but I know it would not be received as such.

And it would not make your daddy love me

anymore than it would make me whole.

Here, I lie and pray you grow, strong and safe,

that you don't feel the pains,

that you inherit my smile but not my face.

I know I am doing the right thing,

but it never felt so wrong.

Baby, please forgive me.

You never asked to be born.

I can only hope that for you

life will be kinder than it was to me.

The End

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