tell him he’ll never sleep again because our baby’s wail will still be ringing in our ears long after she turns eighteen,
and I want to warn him that I must cut caffeine and alcohol and raw fish from my diet so life as we know it is totally over,
and I want just once to catch a fucking glimpse of that mysterious glow as I walk past the bathroom mirror--
but the little blue line sends me back to bed where I will implant myself between the sheets and try like hell to dream of good news.
Emergency Ultrasound
BabyCenter says I can expect my embryo to be the size of a sesame seed several weeks after conception and I’m not sure why but I think about this when the cramping begins and the crimson creeps down the inside of my thigh until I finally reach for the phone because panic has set in and I am certain I can feel this little seed scatter right out from under me which I try to explain, hours later, when the doctor is “sorry to report” that he doesn’t see anything on the screen and it suddenly feels like a gust of wind has plucked me from the ground and I am floating away for good.
What People Whisper
She lost the baby-- like I don’t know where it went. Fucking stupid phrase.
Mia Herman is a writer and editor living in Queens, NY. Her poems have appeared in numerous publications, including the Bellevue Literary Review, F(r)iction, and Minerva Rising, and her nonfiction work earned an Honorable Mention in the 2014 Tom Howard / John H. Reid Fiction & Essay Contest. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Hofstra University and serves as the Creative Nonfiction Editor for F(r)iction as well as the Outreach Director for Brink Literacy Project. Follow her on Twitter @MiaMHerman.
