when the doctor hurried out of his office with a picture in his hand. The pale light inside my belly. Tiny hands reaching out to grab something. Little feet eager to leave their mark. So this is the price to pay. For creating another person, for spinning words. I was in pain. Serious pain. There was something inside me, pushing against my intestines, pressing against my lungs, messing with my bones. I doubled over and stroked my arm again and again through my dress.
