Ovary Ode

They were looking for cysts not babies 

but I still marveled at the gleaming healthy twins.

The sonic probe skated on cool gel, 

shockingly way below the belly button

sketching out those dual granaries

in a staticky black and white.

Life is frustrating and itchy 

but I contain spaces that do not belong to me:

Two tiny convents, 

flooded with tiny half nuns encased in full habits.

Oh overflowing hands 

Oh slimy sisteraunts 

Floating satellites tethered to the space fabric on a single strand

chucking vital information at the home planet.

We all lived a halflife in the bodies of our mothers.

She carried a whole half of you before you arrived.

I play a game of remembering my partial existence 

as a building block in her body:

Try to feel half of her broken middle school elbow.

Try to hear half the skidding tires of the crash of her first car.

She spoke once of the third child she never had

I only realized then that we had known him, 

half occupied the same space, 

brushed half shoulders with him.

Oh cozy pulsing duplex

Oh bursting pink seedpods

Twin dusty bookshelves filled with pages

of every other word blacked out in red ink.

I begged the technician to print the portrait glowing on the screen.

Don’t you see? It’s all in there, everything that’s coming

Sofiy Inck