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.

  1. katery says:

    i know all about infertility at 34.

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