Poem #11: Ultrasounds With an Etch-a-Sketch

I am not qualified for this
My attentions turn like
Telephone wires
And carry no messages

I am the professional-
Or so I thought, til finding myself
In my own custody

I know better-
But I never learned
Those important lessons
Of kindergarten
And infancy;

I imagine that the screen,
Filled with amorphous shapes
That are not childhood,
Is the grainy grey
Of the etch-a-sketch

Shake it enough, and it disappears.

Erase a line and make your image
On your own terms,
Something to be proud of,
Something that will grow
With firm roots,
And not make your same
Goddamned
Mistakes.

The ultrasound tech smiles,
And I know that movement of muscles,
Because it is mine.

Because in any other situation,
I would not be the one wishing
That my work would be erased,
And realizing that no amount of shaking
Can undo-

This-

Child.