They say it’s too late, I’m too old
cobwebs in my womb.
Global warming, the end of the world as we know it
all these are good reasons i never even tried to have you
little boy with the mismatched socks and tousled hair.
it wasn’t an abortion, I was never pregnant, I was never
counting my nevers
i won’t be your mother
I won’t know the songs you sing
in your bathtub
and see the tiny trains in your growing hands.
i can’t read you ridiculous tales about magicians
and sorcerers and dragons who haunt you at night.
i can’t hold you when you shiver from a fever
and wonder if there’s a monster under the bed?
I’m the monster with a barren womb.
i won’t know your games, your sports, the way you
kick a red soccer ball into the sky.
I’ve looked at many skies and seen your eyes
I’m a woman, a feminist
why did I want a son?
I wanted to teach you how to be
the man I wish existed,
i would make you him.
but i would still let you be you
because identity is all we have
after the referees go home.
I didn’t win this one
maybe next time
in my next life
I will have a child.
But this time I finally say
good bye to you
the little boy, the man
the son I never had.