Four

It was painful, but what hurt the most

was not the physical pain.  the scraping

of my uterus

reminds me of candles

not blown on a birthday cake.

of unknown names and faces

that haunt me.

that time, I wanted it to be taken,

convinced,

university mattered more than life.

the second time, it was dead

before I looked down

to watch my tummy

grow.

the third time

it was a boy. and my dad

was alive to hold him.

the fourth time

it was a girl. at the

ultrasound I cried.

i held my breath

praying i would have

a daughter.

to replace being

a daughter. but that

is eternal too.

pinched with love

and Greek sayings.

So when the nurse asked me how many children do you have? I paused.

I really wanted to say four

but my husband

would not understand

how I think about

the other two

all the fucking time.

Two, I replied, a little breathless. a little jaded.