The gum-smacking receptionist who let it slip
that the embryo in my ultrasound was
four weeks old when those pee sticks
have been positive for eight.
The Asian nurse who showed me to my bed,
saying, Not boy or girl. Decomposing.
The nervous intern who, missing the vein, flooded
my right elbow with labour-inducing fluid,
giving rise to swollen flesh
that never reached my belly.
The anesthetic dream
of my baby as a blonde boy
climbing clouds shaped like
human arms.
5 comments:
The irony in your litany of indictments gains force by being posted (and read) on mother's Day.
Not sure how I should understand "decomposed."
It's sad, interesting. though the fluid in 'your' right elbow was a bit funny. the last line is beautiful, though I felt a segue from what comes before that would make it better.
I keep coming back to the title: is it "Held" because these are things that stay in memory? But if so, it's not because you/the speaker is hanging onto them; they simply won't go away… Anyway, the way you leave ample room for the reader to fill in the narrative is very effective.
I thought of held because of the coldness of the medical professionals, the desire to be held through grief, the longing to hold a baby that will never be born, and the heavenly arms at the end. But your idea of holding memories works too.
Love the gum smacking receptionist. “Decomposing" hit me, as it should. The arms did connect me back to the title, holding the baby and the mother and the memories.
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