The stork does not fly over my home.
It is empty and abandoned.
It is sticky and thick.
It is barren.
I’ve watched babies,
in their baskets,
slip from my body
into the fresh white bowl.
Pink water swirls away
in a hypnotizing whirlpool,
replaced by clear, clean water.
I press my ear to the baby blue walls,
listening to the creaking pipes
where my child swims.
Carried out like a corpse in a casket of blood.
With hands pressed to my stomach
The rest of the day
I listen for cries within pipes
wherever I go.
Elisabeth Blandford is studying English for Secondary Education at Towson University. Elisabeth’s passions include reading, writing, and teaching. When she’s not reading or writing she can be found running, rock climbing, hiking, or mountain biking.