my blessed baby
I keep thinking
about his baby in my belly,
my imaginary baby,
in my empty belly.
half of me and
half of him —
something small and holy
that was never meant
to live.
Everyone around me
is having babies.
Carrying them around
like they once carried their
baby dolls.
Proudly showing off
their round bellies
as they once did
with pillows hidden
underneath.
I keep thinking
about his baby in my belly.
My empty belly,
My blessed bloody thighs,
My holy womb with no baby.
As God ordained it to be.
My hand pressed against
my belly,
imagining the warmth
underneath my skin,
imagining tiny feet kicking,
tiny pieces of him
growing innocently inside me.
my phantom baby,
my child that will never be real.
Someone else will have
his babies,
Someone else who will be
cradling a swollen belly —
Robbing me of my blessed baby.
Blood appears
between my thighs,
my womb empty once again.
Filled with relief and grief,
I will never
be full of him again.
And I’m left thinking
what a horrible mother
I would have been
to his baby.