I found an old polaroid
of my mother
lying in a hospital bed
holding her pregnant belly
in eager arms—
happy,
unafraid
today
women queue for IUDs
like wartime rations for
milk or beans—
our anticipation of
motherhood
traded for fear,
unsure if we are allowed
to be prioritized,
or simply kept alive
in bodies and blood
that already betray
our silent threats
atony
previa
rupture
as natural as pollen on bees:
weights
that carry
death’s cruel sentence—
now heavier
by law’s decrees,
ensuring that
hospital beds
remain empty
