PUNK POETRY: Conception by Irena Praitis
Conception
I started late
and traveled alone
keeping the stranger’s sperm
warm against my thigh—
the donor thawed by my doctor
that I drove to the inseminator’s clinic.
You need help with fertility
when you go it on your own,
no second set of eyes
on the ovulation timer kit,
nobody to cry with when the
pregnancy tests stay negative,
no one else’s dreams crash
when the body miscarries.
But what hand hold
could prepare anyone
for the miracle,
the early rapid shadow
flutter of a heart
beating just beside my own?
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