The first cramp. You drive yourself
home. A mantra: it's for the best.
You wanted this so badly, wanted
to know this new person so badly,
but the blood is soaking your clothes
and this isn't your first time, so
you call the nurse line, call husband,
grab pads, grit your teeth. You wanted
this so badly, but this is for the best.
Cramps almost too much to bear, but this
is for the best. You tell yourself you'll live,
you don't even have to go to the hospital
if you don't soak through a pad an hour,
and you don't have to look at what's coming
out of you as you sit on the toilet, innards
raked by hot irons as the promising cells
die.
Note to readers: this is based on an actual personal event, but it's not recent; I've just been thinking about it a whole lot lately because Christmas is so kid-centric.