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Poetry

To My Unborn

KrisDeLaRash

My child
I've seen your abraded knees
Your stained Sunday's best
and I've grinned in anticipation 
of Kindergarten recitals
where mama's baby girl
would fingerpaint over memories
of living only for self
and assume the position as my pride and joy
standing at an astounding four feet 
of sandy brown curls and teeth from cheek to cheek

I've ran in dew-kissed fields of granny-smith green grass
chasing butterflies with you
picking dandelions like roses for my little princess
I've bubbled over at the thought of your smiley faces on primary school picture days
Trapped behind clay frames like magnets holding up your good grades
on refrigerator doors
I've watched you sleep, miles away in marshmallow clouds wondering where your next smile would come from
My baby girl, I've imagined your first pitter patter across the floor
Your first intelligible words
I've promised myself and you more
than I've had, and more than I want, as parents often do.

My child, I've promised the devil my soul before he should take yours from you.

But I've also cried
expecting you to want an explanation
the day you come home from school
with salt stains on sullen cheeks
You blaming me for the exclusionary world 
that I wish I could give to you on sterling plates unabashedly
not bashing me
or you, my oppressed progeny

My sentiments go soft between an identity and an apology

Not ready to explain the facts of biology

Because two mommies can't make a baby.


I am afraid.

Your young eyes probing me for a solution
and my trembling mouth without one
guilty of selfishly forgetting the only allowance all children are given:

Kids can be cruel.

And because your classmates parents,
perhaps trapped in the time warp of a
conservative America set on preserving the family unit,
told their child not to play with you,
I'm stuck trying to explain to you 
that you are not out of a test tube
and that you are loved.

Between an identity and an apology.

Because I never chose to be hated,
nor did you choose to be procreated.
But you're here.
And every time your blood is oxygenated,
I lose a little bit of that fear.
You are a miracle standing at an astounding four feet of sandy brown curls 
And though sullen cheeks hide your fading baby teeth
You are so loved.

So loved.

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