Love Child

Train Wrecking.
I watch, I feel, I acknowledge.
The woman grieves for the babe taken.
Removed from her womb.
I am her.
Both our arms are empty.
She leaves hospital, with a memory.
Belly shadows her history.
Downy and soft.
Hiding the angular pain.
The loss in her heart
Stabbing, bleeding, tears of anguish
Obsession follows.
Hair, eyes, feet, skin.
What were they like?
Do I remember?
Is it sheer fabrication?
Train wrecking.
I cannot look away.
Because I am her.
Even if her baby breaths,
her arms are empty.
And so are mine.

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