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 has been a writing instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Grain, and Harvard Review, and her newest poetry collections are Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing), The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press), and Book of Beasts (Weasel Press). Her blog is hollylday.blogspot.com