Wheeled into a room of bright lights
And stainless steel, I see the doctor
Check instruments and hear
A nurse confirm my birth
Before, rising to cross the space,
She calls: “This is your embryo.”
I lift my eyes to see, projected
On the opposite wall, a perfect circle;
Shining host of hidden X and Ys.
“If this succeeds,” he smiles,
“Be sure to tell the boss.”
At 43, I crave you, and perhaps
In shame I thank God every day
We share – hardly dare
To assume or presume
That eight months later
An obstetrician will hold you high …
Startled by the air, you cry.
Before you lived within my womb,
I saw you, far across the room,
And you looked like holy communion.
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