We were supposed to be having babies,
Raising life in a little historic townhouse
Ideally downtown, so that I could walk
To the coffee shop everyday with the
Dog and the kids.
I wonder if we would have had a girl
First, or a boy.
Would we have stopped at one? Two?
Surely not three.
Would we have taken family photos
At every holiday and have large canvases
Of our smiling faces covering the walls?
Would we have worn matching outfits–
After you pitched a fit of course–
Or would we be more subtle,
Maybe some matching shoes?
Would our daughter have my nose and
Our son, your eyes?
I can see us now–
Curled up in bed, with the dog in between
My legs, a spunky pigtailed daughter
Kicking my ribs in her sleep,
And a mousy younger brother who
Accidentally knocks over the collection
Of bottles on your bedside table–  crying
Because daddy hasn’t had much sleep
And is quick to anger when hungover–
The floor covered in shit because the
Dog was not let out before you
Stumbled into bed
And me, eyes wide open
But stiff as a board
Not minding the
Repeated jabs in the ribs.

– Faith Thiebaud

Note: This poem was previously published by Rat’s Ass Review.