Sixteen Weeks, Poetry by Ene Elizabeth Adeka

 Genre: life, love, death

A tiny mound of flesh, as harmless as the sparrow’s egg
forged out of love or lust
the deed was done and so I came to be.
In my pulsing cocoon I lay
an unknown visitor devoid of sight, flight or fight.
Soon my cocoon of shelter will change in readiness for my arrival
and I am looking forward to my birthday
as with ecstasy I long to gaze upon the faces
of those whose loins I was forged out of.

I hear voices and a gruff voice says “stigma”
I wonder if it is my mother’s name or my fathers’.
Too many voices but it seems we are going to see the doctor.
My infantile mind says that must be my father’s name
but why does Stigma and Doctor seem to me an unusual combination?
Though I can’t feel, each part of me fears this…