The doctor laughs when I tell her my plan
was to give birth in the back yard, like my cat did her kittens
that it just felt like the safest place to me right now.
She says she doesn’t do house calls, so I’ll have to see her here.

I regret the touch of cold metal against my skin, all of the poking and prodding
the ultrasound that shows only the skeleton of the human child inside me.
I wanted so much for there to be a litter of kittens, and I tell the doctor this
and she laughs again and tells me only cats have kittens, my baby looks fine.

At home, I am angry that so many things I say these days
are making people laugh, because I don’t mean them to be funny, I don’t.
I tell the baby inside me that most people don’t take me seriously
and to not be surprised at the stories people will tell.

____
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I’m in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press,) all published in 2018.

Photography by Fabrice Poussin.