Versions of Chai

Because I know so many women who have experienced miscarriages and ectopic pregnancies, I felt very anxious during the first trimester of my pregnancy. When the second trimester began, I was so relieved because, at that point, the risk of miscarriage is reduced significantly. I felt like I was "out of the woods." Unfortunately, in all my reading and research I somehow missed the short paragraph in the index of my pregnancy book about Incompetent Cervix. This condition is uncommon, but can occur during the fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. In my case, the doctors believe this is what happened. In dwelling on this diagnosis, I was reminded of The Cradle Will Fall , a mystery novel by Mary Higgins Clark. If I remember correctly from the novel, women unable to conceive are referred to as "broken cradles." This description has stuck with me as evidenced in my last post. Of course, the title for Clark's novel is an allusion to the well-known nursery rhyme "Ro...

An interesting thing about delivery, at least for me, is that I couldn't see what was going on. During the whole ordeal, I only saw one thing and that image is forever burned in my memory. I have tried to describe it delicately in the poem. The metaphor of the white tulip most likely occurred to me after Memorial Day when I placed white tulips on my daughter's grave. In this poem, I also allude to Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 when I refer to her as "a darling bud."

Whereas my last post dealt with hope and looking forward to being a mother, this poem is about watching those hopes vanish. I don't want to go into all of the details, but at week 21 of my pregnancy--one week after finding out that we were having a girl--I was told by my doctor to go immediately to the hospital. At that point, we knew something was seriously wrong. I will never forget the walk down the labor hall toward my hospital room--the last door on the left. I'm not sure if the door actually had the fallen leaf and teardrop symbol on it or not, but I know that the folder they gave us when we left the hospital did.

Computer problems have prevented me from posting sooner, but finally here is the next poem in the chapbook. Of all the poems, there are only three that mention or allude to actually being pregnant. This is the last of those three before the poems that deal with the loss. The idea for this poem came when we visited Baldwin Farm toward the end of October 2009. It was an absolutely beautiful day. There had been sufficient rain that summer and early fall so the grass was lush and green. It was a perfect contrast to the bright orange pumpkins that dotted the hills. The sky was clear and blue. (I took a lot of pictures and I wanted to include some of them in this post, but unfortunately, I can't because of the aforementioned computer issues.) While we were there, we saw several couples taking pictures of their babies in the pumpkin patch. At the time it made me kind of sad, but I remember thinking, "maybe next year that will be me." I didn't know it at the time, but I was...

Of all the poems in the chapbook, this is probably my least favorite. It is barely more than an idea for a poem. After seeing one negative line on pregnancy tests for so long, I wanted to write something about the significance of the two positive lines. While working on the chapbook, I also tried to experiment with different forms of poetry. This was my attempt at a short poem, but I am definitely no Katerina Stoykova-Klemer. There is so much that is not communicated in this poem. How is the reader to know that I have never really liked pink? Also, not all pregnancy tests have pink lines (or lines at all) so this may not make sense to everyone. Two Lines Who knew there would come a day when pink would be the most important color and two lines would change my life forever

Okay, I know this one isn't exactly a poem--it's more like a series of journal entries--but I thought it might work on some kind of modern level. I actually wrote this (or the majority of it) in the waiting room of the Urgent Treatment Center the day I had my first positive pregnancy test. I wrote it on scraps of paper from my purse. It is very autobiographical, although I've left out some of the details. When trying to conceive, everything revolves around the cycle calendar and trying to predict the small window of time when conception can occur. The last week of the calendar is the worst because the window of time has passed, but it is too early to take a pregnancy test. In fact, the waiting and wondering can be torture. My intention in writing this was to express some of that anxiety.

I have had a difficult time writing commentary about this poem--probably because I recently had a reminder of this very subject and it just seems so unfair. With all the steps and medications and everything else that I have done trying to conceive, it blows me away that someone can "accidently" get pregnant. I wrote this poem to vent some of my frustration. It's really just a beginning and definitely needs some work.