Last December, shortly after starting this blog, I challenged myself to write at least one poem every month and publish it here. I’m happy to report I’ve met that challenge and posted 13+ poems here in the last year. I’m satisfied with that.
I met with my writing group this morning. We’ve all got a busy month ahead of us with the holidays, our upcoming IVF, and travel, and we decided as a group that it’s time for a break. I don’t know what the next month will bring. I might be inspired by the events coming up, or I might be too overwhelmed to write any poetry. Either way, I don’t feel the need to impose external deadlines on myself. I feel like I should go easy on myself. That’s the plan, anyway.
So, here’s this month’s poem. It may be the last one for a while. Or not.
There are infinite ways to be broken.
We each have scars:
the one on his hip marks
the site where they stole bone
to repair his gum and teeth;
my eyebrow was sliced
open when a chain-link fence
was thrown back in my face.
Fevers burn, bones break,
muscles ache. Viruses invade,
weakening our bodies.
I’ve scratched my skin raw,
chicken pox confining me to the couch
for two weeks in kindergarten
My thoughts have spiraled into
negativity and fear, the years
after college depressed, numb, sad.
And now we are barren,
two longing to be multiplied,
my empty uterus a kind of wound.
There is only one way to be whole.