Between the Lines

You whispered,

“Just in case—”

Your lips holding space to read 

the creases of my furrowed brow

against the glinting ultrasound.

To you, it was

amniocentesis.

But  you’d

map

    my

           baby

   into

    pieces;

         so when 

your sigh 

bled into mine

I think it shared the weight consigned

unto our common thread. The tension 

of reality that tethered us to life 

and death.

Hence you stood. I lay beside.

No strings

attached, yet we were

intertwined

accomplices of fetal risk,

trusting

life could still persist

under hope—

sadistic fiend who

weaves

life’s fraying tapestries

and breaks

the bounds of statistics

that else

writhe weathered souls

to wisps.

The needle poked, pulling through

in deep pursuit not long before 

it was all done. Nothing left to do

except test fate for coded truth.

But then you turned 

to me. Your glance, still grasping 

newborn dreams.

A faithful murmur left 

your voice:

“Whatever happens, it’s your choice.”