Two Eggs by Rebecca Schumejda

During my second trimester and most of my third,
my brother was in solitary confinement in county.
The baby growing inside me would kick so hard,
she’d wake me up. I’d fry two eggs, poke at them,
watch yolk run as if the oozing yellow liquid would
lead me back to my little brother. He confessed
to counting every blemish on the walls of his cell
hundreds of times, but he never got the same number.
I kept busy researching what life was like inside
the womb and prison system. The days went on
and on and people would ask questions like when
is he going to trial or when is your due date and
I would get hysterical at the thought of her leaving
me before I got the chance to pick out her name.

REBEC SHCU cahooRebecca Schumejda is the author of several poetry collections including Falling Forward (sunny outside press, 2009), Cadillac Men (NYQ Books, 2012), Waiting at the Dead End Diner (Bottom Dog Press, 2014), as well as five chapbooks. Her new collection, Our One-Way Street, is forthcoming from NYQ Press. She received her MA in poetics from San Francisco State University. She currently lives with her family in New York’s Hudson Valley.

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