there is magic in a steaming cup
in seeing with sick eyes
through the white morning

A woman who moves in silence
Her face softened by the distance

She carries a life
not numbered
a beating heart for two
so big the walls bend around her
as if to say
“nevermind the others”

Two hours.
I'm supposed to wait two hours
to determine my future.
i can hear my mother's warnings in the back of my mind
oddly enough, all i can think about is diapers
none of this seems real,
yet i can feel the anxiety coursing through my body
my fingernails chewed down to stubs
the person in the mirror is hardly worth looking at
i can only see time swallow me whole, starting with my eyes
then spiraling into something beyond my control.
how
did i
end up
here.
two hours two hours two hours
my bouncing leg threatens to detach from my body
diapers. stroller. mom. baby. no dad.
last week i carefully picked out my clothes,
hoping the girls in my class would think i'm worth glancing at.
in nine months, i could be carrying a human that i bore.
at least i'll have time to process for nine months.
time to prepare.
time to mourn.
mourn for what?
a life you know you'd never have the motivation to live?
a life you know you never even had the potential for?
Was this supposed to be your life after all?
No living, only surviving?
two
hours
pass
in that time, i've settled on the brand of diapers i should buy,
how i'll tell my mother,
the nearest hospital to our house,
and how i'll have to quit smoking.
But then I look,
I look without thinking about it.
With the same impulsiveness that got me here in the first place,
I look.
There is no ring.
My life can resume.
My little life with no greater purpose.
My boring little life with no ring.

Yesterday, she told me something I didn’t think that I’d ever hear
That life would be changing, all rearranging, and all of it in less than a year
I thought about my life, staring at my wife, wondering if she felt the same
That’s when she told me, honey come hold me, and lets see if we can think of a name

Today, she showed me something I didn’t think that I’d ever see
A black and white picture, showing the mixture, of love between her and me
She said it’s time don’t you think, to buy something pink, or should we buy something blue?
I then smiled at her, said it didn’t matter, I’d be fine with whatever God wanted to do

Tomorrow, I’ll meet someone that I didn’t think that I’d ever meet
Lying there in the bed, with their pretty head, little hands and tiny feet
I promise with my soul, now that you’ve made us whole, to give you everything I never had
And I can’t wait for the day, when you’re able to say, that you love your mom and dad

So I am pregnant,

but I have no idea what --


my mother size is.

Some people asked me why I need to leave my mother’s house.
She was a fragile woman.
Alone and old.
I should have taken care of her while I can.

The truth is, sometimes I love her.
But most of the times…
all I remember is how she kicked me in the shin
that left a wound for months.
How she, while I’m sick from tuberculosis,
dragged me outside the house
because I don’t have the appetite to eat.
The neighbors had to beg for me.
The neighbors gave me sympathy that my mother refused to give out of anger.

I was only a child.

The truth is, she is an amazing woman for a few days.
But she is a whole different monster if you overstayed.

Is it bad to hold grudges?
For 25 years, I was the emotional punching bag of a sad woman.
And now people asks me why I need to leave my mother alone.

If I don’t leave,
If by the grace of gods I stayed with her,
everyday will be a constant reliving of memories I have tried so hard to bury.
Everyday,
my hate will grow larger than what I can contain.

Everyday I will wish she was dead.

People don’t like it when I tell them this.
They say something along the lines of they hope my kid won’t do this to me.
Or that I didn’t have any gratitude for my own mother.
For raising me alone.
For sacrificing her happiness.

Is it okay to be thankful but not want to be around that person?
Why do I need to be punished for my mother’s small jabs of abuse?
Isn’t healing my inner child
and trying to get the courage to leave
enough of a punishment?

I am pregnant now.
I will try my best to not be like my mother.
To not be full of rage.
My kids will not have to tiptoe around my emotions.
I will create a home that’s

forgiving,
welcoming,
kind.

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

I will shield them from the shadows that haunted me for 30 years.

The abuse ends with me.

The abuse ends with me.

She can not understand
how much a heart can desire
something it never had.
Those little hands and little toes
soft coos and a tiny, button-nose.
Wrapped in white, an angel sleeping,
peaceful and drowsy,
with all the angels waiting.
With hands that don't know how to stay
and cries are all to communicate,
a darling angel grows and cleaves,
relying on one for all she needs.
And wherever in Heaven she may be,
your lonely mother waits for thee.

Time ticking down,
Like the guttering of a dying flame,
So close,
Can nearly taste,
Where you and me will soon be three,
When our son we can finally meet.

I can picture his little hands,
His oh-so little feet,
Eyes as big as plates,
So filled with possibilities and innocence,
A pitcher for you and me to fill,
With kindness and glee.

But it seems so far away,
Still seems like a bit of a dream,
That the hypothetical seems to still carry me,
On a cloud,
Gently floating,
On an azure dream.

The pain, the pleasure,

the ****** of giving birth:


fertility queen.