Infertility at Thirty-four

Posted: November 15, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

 

The bones that form my hips
are like a white bowl
of plastic fruit,
useless and inedible;
ripe with frustrated life.

The future is here
in a small bitter seed
I carry deep inside me.

Like an invisible cherry,
it sits in the bowl
of my pelvis
longing to be eaten.

Its cries at night
are muffled in flesh.

That seed is the only
real thing inside me.

Advertisements
Comments
  1. katery says:

    i know all about infertility at 34.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s