By | 13 May 2024
Knitted in my womb

I missed carried the Lord’s Heritage.

A divine reward intricately woven in the depth of the earth.

Deprived of her innocent smile,

like a tsunami her melodic screams

sang in my ears.

Asphyxiated by silent marriages,

dilation and currettage

my cervix became battered by grief.

As a trail of miracle stained the surgical table

the unsympathic glare of Doctor McLaughlin

interrupted my silent vigil.

My heart lurched as the clean scent of antiseptic

crawled beneath my mucosa.

A mother I will never be.

Week upon week, weak my soul loathed the

sight of those expecting.

Slowly sliced by my barren subconscious mind,

contained to the corners of my rancid room

I withered.
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