Fear of Reproduction

Like women before me, I fear
the damp woods of my womb,
pray for temporary drought,
turn away from any unearthed face.

I wanted to see what mothers with no
children looked like in different languages. 

Once there was a mother who had no children,
which in her language translated to
there is nothing wrong with me.
She has emptied herself of guilt
cup by cracked porcelain cup.

Another childless mother translates 
in Arabic to idiot, in Chinese to yellow
stream, in Serbian to child
Bulgarian, child, German, Irish,
Mongolian, child, child, child,
as if to say such a woman must not exist. 

Please forgive me, 
I will not let you gather these silk linings.
I will not let you dock mountains here.
Please forgive me,
I come bearing the furthest thing from fruit.
Please forgive me,
I am pregnant with the sins of my mother. 
I am intimate with trauma. 
Please forgive me,
there is nothing wrong with me. 

CAITLIN CRESON grew up in Augusta, GA, but currently resides in Atlanta where she is working on her MFA at Georgia State University. You can find her poems in journals such as Waccamaw, Santa Ana River Review, Sand Hills, and Rascal. You can find her on Instagram @readingcaitlin. You cannot find her on Twitter because she is not a bird so she doesn't tweet. 

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