Sometimes it comes slowly, a twinge <br />lower left abdomen, then right. <br />Dull pain, then constipation, <br />await a run of tears, of liquid <br />coming from everywhere. <br />Hope sits a fleeting while <br />that somehow a child is in there, <br />one night forgotten in a quinine haze. <br />Then the pain fades, <br />a rusted river rips <br />layers of virtual baby from me, <br />three drops at a time.<br /><br />Sonja Broderick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/month-s-end/
