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Test measures and I am weeping
in restaurants again.
Not pregnant.
That’s what the test says.
It says other things too.
Chromosome: Less than.
Gestational age: Less than.
Female: Less than.
Or, not not dead.
Have you seen my daughter?
Between my legs they
beam the white light
of excavation.
I’m not not fine.
Nurse praises
my good veins, how easily
the needle slips
in.
Intact molecule. Calibrated against.
Status: final.
Dress with embroidered strawberries.
Baby doll open and close your eyes.
Nurse lullabies.
I am rocked and rocked. Hushed.
Sara Femenlla’s poems have been published in Pleiades, The Journal, The New Orleans Review, The Saint Ann’s Review, Denver Quarterly, Salamander, The Shore and Seventh Wave, among others. Her manuscript of poems, Elegies for One Small Future, was a semi-finalist for Autumn House Press’ Poetry Prize, a finalist for Write Bloody Publishing’s Jack Mccarthy Book Prize and a finalist for The Waywiser Press Anthony Hecht Poetry Prize. After a journey that included too many late nights waiting tables, early mornings staring at a computer counting down to lunch, countless hours waiting in traffic, on subway platforms, in waiting rooms, at departure gates, a million log-in passwords forgotten, a thousand cups of mediocre coffee, overdrawn bank accounts, unreplied emails, unanswered voicemails, gallons of wine and a pathological commitment to optimism, she currently lives and teaches High School English and Creative Writing in Los Angeles with her husband and son.