"Wait For Rain"
They’d have to save all the whales before they get to prisoner’s rights.
protect the unborn I’m cuffed in front transported on a state bus.
Will the maternity ward be pastel blue or pastel pink? It’s institutional white. I’m no
angel. They are no monsters. They speak in a hush.
Going under, reminds me of the high life. Like a slap, his cry kills my buzz. We bond
for two years, then he’s off to his sentence.
The name I gave him won’t stay.
He won’t remember my scent.
He doesn’t have my eyes.
But maybe one day if he’s not shipped too far on a side street glazed with rain. I’ll
pass a stranger who won’t be.
A Whittenberg is a poet and novelist (Tutored, Random House 2010). She has had Scleroderma since 2013.