I think that my uterus would be better off
As a flower garden.
Cast aside the seeds already there-
If fertilized, they will grow into a bloom
That digs tributaries into the hips and swells
The stomach into an alien thing,
A bloom that will take up every inch
Of space that it is given, slowly invading
Every centimeter of the host's life
Until there is nothing but the garden
And all the seeds that still lie dormant
In the womb.
My life will not be spent
Taking hedge clippers to my bank account
In order to keep the weeds from encroaching,
Spraying pesticide on my time
Because the bloom needs a new pot
Or a ride to a place with better light,
Trimming away the leaves of my dreams
Because they keep the little sapling in the shade.
Throw out the seeds in my womb
And start afresh. Give me lilies and hyacinths,
Snapdragons and marigolds, peonies and petunias,
Roses of every hue and tulips by the mile,
Morning glories hanging from the bowers
Of my thighs, wisteria intermingling
With my hair.
Let me name each blossom like the children
Who will never run among them.
Let my partner help me water them,
Their hands beside mine on the hose.
Let the whole world see how my garden grows,
How it blooms so bright that every glare
Or "you'll change your mind someday"
Pales beside its beauty.
Change my uterus into a flower garden,
And I might actually consider using it.
About the author: Gina Pasciuto is a high school junior from Dedham, Massachusetts. Outside of writing poetry, she enjoys theater, fiction podcasts, and reading tarot cards. This is her first time being published.