Nine

The Pregnant Poem

Nine: The Pregnant Poem by JkM photo from freestocks.org

Perhaps he would be nine now
nine in some cold uncaring orphanage
or nine in the luxury of some
ritzy suburb
nine years into life
cursing our anonymity
yet longing to know his past
nine now, and soon nineteen
to be parenting bastards of his own.
Would we have broken under
being parents at nineteen?
The real bastards — us.
Thoughts in vain
he didn’t even live to see
the second trimester.

In honor of women’s reproductive rights, before I knew the concept of having agency over one’s own outcome. So young, so naive, so bewildered.