There is only the memory
of the experience; the pain itself
is impossible to recall. I remember saying
to you: This is the worst thing
I’ve ever done.
This was the longest I’d gone
without thinking of my sick father.
All other anxieties trumped
by what the body knew how to do.
I am handed a stranger
while the doctor pulls a needle
through me—quick, tiny metal bites.
The baby is quiet now, but red
from screaming. Her hands
are tiny grasping creatures. I know
how you feel, I think.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 5.
Emily Hockaday is the author of five chapbooks, including the forthcoming Beach Vocabulary from Red Bird Chaps. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals, and, along with Jackie Sherbow, she coedited the anthology Terror at the Crossroads. She can be found on the web at www.emilyhockaday.com and @E_Hockaday.
See all items about Emily Hockaday
