That Blue in the Mountains

It’s the blue of pebbles at the 

bottom of the stream, in the

warm afternoon fish scales, a

reflection of the emerald ash

beetle at the creek of the deer,

another cracked robin’s egg,

It had started again. I felt

that old, familiar nausea rise

up from my belly,  and I began to

hope again. I was a flurry of pinning

baby nursery ideas to design

boards, shades of blue, that

blue in the mountains at

sunrise and dusk, imagining

filling up the empty bedrooms

upstairs with our future kids

and their laughter & sweet baby

smells. In May 2021, I had my

third early pregnancy loss. At age

39, I couldn’t help but think I

only have so many more chances. I

just wondered if perhaps I

was broken? Had I broken

myself? My husband and I have  

tried Clomid treatments, baskets of

needles and IVF; red biohazard sharps

containers stacked in the garage

 I wish for the shape of my future

children. I send this wish out into

the Universe, I reach towards that

blue, that blue in the mountains.

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