I left a Part Out
For James, who wanted to start a family (a new one) in 1993, with me, and I wasn’t ready. Last night, when I came over, and told your friends and girlfriends to fuck off, so we could have some privacy, I was aware of my cycle. I knew I bled 3-5 days ago, and was at my most fertile point, perhaps the very last point, the very last menses, having already been diagnosed as post menopause. The shit paused, and actually stopped. Then it started up again. Rebecca laughed, and named her baby “Isaiah.” “Facts, I’m too old to be pregnant!” she told Mary. That’s why Isaiah means “laughter.” Nobody was laughing when I showed up at James house last night. None of them were worth worrying about; I told them all to fuck off, get lost. After we did the sex, which I mentioned was like 30 thrusts more or less. (Probably less), I held the stuff inside, and once I left his house, thinking, (super pissed off) that I KNOW he didn’t come, why wasn’t he more interested and invested, at least enough to secure some privacy?
But he must’ve ejaculated, because I was excited. I did it. I pounced on my last chance to conceive. I messed with my flower, and I knew some stuff made it, but also, white petals of something unknown were creeping out of the hole. What’s that? I pushed it, not wanting to lose the sperm, but get rid of the chunks, whatever they were. They were food, like flower-petal pasta, or seafood, something weird.