will it come out in threads and clumps or in a cookie-cutter tadpole shape perfectly curvilineal and convexed just like the pictures enlarged on the examination room wall like a miniature edamame bean smooth soft and furry in fits and starts eruptive tidal waves sprinkle rain gush ooze stream tennis balls and small rodents, masses and clots the shape of junkyard artifacts find their way out teetering near the edge my eyes scan the abyss for a glimpse of what might have been but I can't tell one from another drenched in semi-startling anguish wondering which was the failed fusion through the diamonds of a chain link fence visually rummaging through the refugees in their tattered clothes I am reluctant each time I depress the handle flash conceptualizing eulogies apprehensive of having shown too little reverence respect contrition and penitence what shall I call it a baby an embryo a fetus a corpse a freakish mass of cells a blob a genetically mutated monster that was not meant to be what kind of mother am I to name it like that I just want to know so I can say goodbye.
Rachel Levy worked as a classroom teacher for nearly a decade before taking time off to write and spend more time caring for her three young children. Her work has most recently appeared in Defenestration and Mamaphonic. She currently lives in Ashland, Virginia, and blogs at Rachel’s Rants, Raves, and Recollections and Rachel’s Food Rants, Raves, and Recollections.
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