by Teresa Stenson
Do, undo, do, undo: the pattern of my life. The audiences' gasp - as I peeled away, revealed away - something far more wonderful underneath. Then he rescued me from 'all that' and you, our bump in front, became our life until he died, so suddenly, leaving his family holding onto my bump and begging, "Let it be a boy, let it be a boy - bless us, so he can live on," pushing me into corners with their hopes. The lie after the ultrasound allowed me a breath; the stress of it pushed you out a month too soon. I dressed you in blue and they crossed themselves, said he had been born again. I hold you close and let them believe.
Teresa Stenson is 28 years old and lives in the north of England. Her short stories have been published in a variety of anthologies and journals, and she blogs here.