Cotton Tree Drive

we named our son.

Flushed, I felt his imaginary kick
like a promise.

You took his tiny, ghostly hand,
patrolling Kowloon Park. My boys.

Today –
we tried.

We tried but I could feel myself
growing colder. He is a foetus in a jar now,

an implausibility. We will not marry
on Cotton Tree Drive. I will not swell

with your child.

It is Tomorrow
and I know I am hard to love.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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