by Rachel Forster
My eyelids closed,
I curl my toes,
Her hand press her stomach.
I wonder if, when at last she knows.
Will she finally think of me?
Or of what I will be,
If given the choice?
There are some things that we
Like organs now formed inside of me,
But that’s the way it’s meant to be:
Being hidden, veiled in secrecy,
Gives life an air of mystery.
I hope when at last I am revealed
My mother will rejoice
Until that day please speak for me
Because I have no voice.