ultra sound beam

we needed more proof, more to place faith

in something we couldn't see hear or touch.

you were an abstract, like god. or love.


the big bang could make something exist

out of nothing. a culmination of

evolution from us to you. your mother's

queasiness could've been anything

at all: a flu, a hangover, a little

disturbance. we feared failure, fear of a seed

unfruited, of realising the dreams we

hadn't yet begun to have. the ultrasound,

however, brought vision to our heathen

minds, and then it brought sound, a fast-paced

bravura more intoxicating than

religious chants invented by mankind;

womankind's finest invention, author

of another of her own self, a woman.

and when i saw there was life, humbled

by biology, it confirmed to me

that love isn’t just an impossible

abstract like bearded white men in the sky,

but our mortality on a printed

sonogram: precise and magnified

and alive.