This is the month you would have
turned two if what the doctor
said was true
if I hadn’t thought my freedom
meant a world alone, without you
but I went to the clinic that
sticky summer day, its windows
covered with grey cloth, blocking
the sun from further ripening
the pungent blossoms who walk in.
It was not a child that left my
gaping body, but my childhood,
all the frivolities and daydreams
I wanted to have in your absence
leaving my womb one piece at a time.
The roses bloomed all around me
as I waited for his car to pull over.
Neither of us spoke the entire ride
back, the smoke of his cigarette
dancing to our thoughts
too raw for any tongue
and I knew as he left me
one last time at my mother’s
doorstep that he never would have
been good enough for you to
call him Daddy, but just
the two of us would provide
each other all the love we needed
in this world I took you away from.
But Isobel, you came out strong,
for you only lost but once while
I still feel the knife everyday.
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