The etopic ( a poem that fits me well)

THE ETOPICby Meaghan Simpson

 

“Your uterus is empty” they say

as they perform the scan

But it’s my heart that empties

as I hold your father’s hand

 

“We’ll give you an injection

and the ectopic will resolve”

“The ectopic” is what they call you

my baby, who I dearly long to hold

And “resolve” has not the meaning

which it might to you and I

Instead it’s a polite way

to tell me you will die

 

“Not viable” I hear them say

which means that you won’t live

I’ll never get to take you home or share

the love I have to give

 

“They had an ectopic” is the way

what’s happened is described,

which hardly seems to recognize

we had a baby who has died

 

I wish that they would use the words,

the ones that make it real

Then maybe they would understand

the sorrow that I feel

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