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Empty Wombs
by Trisha De GraciaHead on the pillow
feet on the floor
hands on her belly
and throat.
Fragile eggshell fragments piece and pit
beneath her gaze.
A silent epitaph sounds in the hallway.
The lights are dim
the room, shallow.
The walls dirty and printed by fingers.
A fruitless bowl sits wanton by the sink.
There were bodies where there should be joy,
Ghosts of never-have-beens,
And where there should be bodies
('Maybe one, please God save one for me...')
a void.
A longing to fill the dead spot there
with life instead of semen
or
with milk instead of blood.
01/13/2006 Posted on 01/13/2006
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 05/13/06 at 07:18 AM The last stanza left me dumbfounded. These are feelings I could never know as a man, depending only on the voices of women for illumination. Thank you. |
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