Old prescriptions, patient identification wristbands,
and a new syringe are visible reminders.
Boy, have I felt like a pincushion at times.
A myomectomy, iron infusions,
failed intrauterine inseminations,
three hysterosalpingograms, and a
uterine fibroid embolization have been my portion.
The closets are stocked with feminine products and
toilet paper for the crime scene-like blood.
A swollen, protruding abdomen
A phony advanced pregnancy
I despise fibroids!
Tears are meat and drink during the changing seasons.
Pens and paper are life preservers.
Matriarchs weren’t “plagued.”
Yet, the Lord has delivered me from infertility.
No child to behold or hold
There is hope, lyfe
I smile. I laugh.