Cora Ellen Luke

I refuse to believe the first one.
It’s the same tech as yesterday
the one who’s scared of my tears.
But I don’t care -
I’m here for the gel
on my belly
the image
on the screen
at eighteen weeks.
The perfect shape of the baby
curls forward, head bowed
as if in prayer.
And it’s true.
There is no heartbeat.
Dead silence.
When my eyes clear, they lock
onto my child, who’s been granted
such a tiny span of life.
I forget it’s just an image
on a screen. I reach out
to touch, to tend my little one
but the glass is cold
the hello incomplete
the goodbye impossible.