‘So close to the end of my childbearing life
without children’
‘The Girl’, Marie Howe
I sat in the café while your friend railed at me
—if you knew you were going to leave why did you try,
and keep trying—he meant for children, of course,
though we did not have them in the end.
Which comes first, blame or consequence?
I sat there, crying, while waitresses tiptoed
around me. One slipped me a napkin. I’d like
to go back. I’d like to have stood up, thrown water
in his face, smashed the plates onto the ground,
and yelled It’s none of your fucking business! I’d like
to have been the woman who made a scene. Instead,
I sat there and wept, unable to find the words
to say how I’d wanted to bear your children,
how much I loved you, and when each of them
failed to draw breath, how parts of me died, too.
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