Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

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I almost killed him.
A worthless pancreas
Sent sugars into his cells.

Dr. Cheng said,
Shots in the belly
Will save you.

And, him?
I asked.

A miscarriage waiting . . .
Were his words of condolence.

So, I waited.
As I stabbed my stomach
With anti-sweetener.

I waited.
For the black blood,
For the cramps,
And the water on my legs.

But instead,
I grew.

Filled like a syringe
As his gray portrait
Lit the ultrasound.
Until he was ready.

And they sliced me, like an orange.
Pulled him from my center.

And he screamed.

Stacey Foster shares her home in Minnesota with her two children, Maggie, age 9, and Casey, age 7, her carpenter husband, and a crazy black lab named Gabbie. She is one year away from receiving an MFA in creative writing from Hamline University. Two of her poems, “Hush” and “Fighting,” have been published in Talking Stick and she is working diligently (painstakingly) on writing a memoir. She is the owner of Crooked Arbor Books in Hinckley, Minnesota, and admits, without guilt, that she is addicted to books.

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