I can press my womanhood into the void

Ghost imprint in
the wall holds a
hand shape

Small boy
presses into
brick and mortar
to disappear

Invisibly thin
sucking in
his air – forgets to
release an exhale

No noise
invisible boy
becomes
fresh paint

As he dries on
the breath
of someone
who should not—
have touched

When I see the imprint
the two lips of innocence
left ages ago
yet just yesterday

I feel a need
to fill them with
my collagen patties
if I do I might know
him as the son

I birthed, the namesake
of my brittle womb
crying out all
night in terror

He survived.
I know the glint
of fire perseveres
within the covey
of his mind
reflects the iris
in his eye—

But I am
in the depression

Filling the mold
with my belly
and breasts

Getting rounder
by the month

I can hold his
safety paramount

Give birth to a
new boy, one
who does not reside
in the peeling residue

One whose memories
we did manage to burn.

One whose momma
is in the wall here;

All her waters
returned.

“Parto en el agua. ¿Sí o no? http://bit.ly/parto-agua”by fertilidad is licensed under CC0 1.0