(Written a day before her 1st ectopic pregnancy, not her second one. Unbelievably enough, after that, a miscarriage and a failed IVF attempt…She still has loads of faith and laughter.)
Sitting here, legs up, coughing hope.
At times I rub my belly, as silently, with thoughts
I talk to the child I’m bearing.
Everywhere I look there is a happy kid,
Not mine; mine is not yet happy;
mine is not yet mine.
I reach to the Saints, to the Lord, and the Virgin Mary.
Promises are made in exchange for a life saved.
Nothing is worst than impatience
and the agony of the wait.
The unknown eats away every waking hour
paving the way to anxiety.
Obviously, we want no pain in our souls;
No heartbreak is best, no tears, no lost hope.
I doubt there is a woman out there
more ready than me.
I want this baby with a passion
and am not giving hope just yet.
With one sentence
I will be blessed with life again.
With one phone call I may smile sincerely.
During the eternal linger,
torturing seconds become a time for prayer.
A candle has been burning for days
And at points, it’s the only light I see.
I’m rescuing my shattered hope
with a soul sitting on the edge…
terrified of heights.