Daily Prompt: Invisible

The second

a first child

inhales her first breath, or the

hours of sobbing helplessness

while watching her fever spike to 103,

tiny body ravaged by Streptococcus pneumoniae.

 

At age 42 or 50,

or earlier, or later depending

on the genetic stew

that simmered before

my first

real heartbeat.

 

 

The night, of turning quietly to

a left shoulder to sleep,

too fatigued to fight,

or even cry, about the

office blonde

who is less than 40 and childless

 

These seconds, or moments, or days

are not marked

with reminders

on pink calendars or

celebrated with gifts

or cake,

 

but are rather, the defining moments

where

I can slip

quietly into obscurity,

finally relieved

that my body is becoming.

 

Invisible.

 

#WorldPoetryDay

via Daily Prompt: Invisible

Invisible

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