Postpartum

Aaron Jernigan

You were such a respectable tenant for all those months.

You never kicked the walls or asked for more.

They wounded my womb to take you from me,

And now it feels so hollow.

 

Your wail was my favorite song,

But time ticks cruelly,

Constantly,

Cursing my ears and curdling my music.

 

You’re too old to coo,

Too brave to cry,

And too many years have coated your crib with the crust of my flaking shell.

 

You will never have homemade milk again,

Not like momma made.

They’ll never figure out how to get love into those jugs you buy.

I should have bottled some for today.

I’d add it to the recipe and mail you some cookies.

Maybe you’d recognize the taste and take a vacation.

 

You are just like your father.

He only comes home in my memories.

I know you were on the drugs,

But I’m still proud of you.

The Army said they’d make a man of you.

I guess they never said what kind of man.

It will never matter to me though.

You could smoke the whole world,

Like one of your cigarettes,

And the most I’d say is that you should quit.

 

Sometimes I wish I were a witch.

I’d cast a spell to shrink you so you could move back into me,

My little tenant.

That way you could hear me pray for you at night,

And you would know home again,

And so would I.

 

Aaron is a UHMC student currently taking English 104, Introduction to Creative Writing, taught by Paul Wood.