3/13/25

when i was 16 i dreamt of giving birth in the supermarket
not a clean catholic birth but the spray paint spill of my blood across the linoleum
smashed egg carton of my innards, shining under the fluorescents
it was too bright, and i had to screw up my eyes, the back of the lids hot orange
the dream was long, a sped-up blurred camera reel of hours
and then everything snapped into place, and i held him in my arms
inexplicably washed, pale and warm and so so alive
more alive than i’d ever thought anything, gone and then suddenly there
pulling down the neck of my shirt, holding him to my chest, his hot mouth around my nipple
his little twitching body against my bare chest
just holding him, sitting on the floor in the blood and fluid, glowing
and then i woke up, arms empty, a cavity in my stomach
the space he used to be, the lightness of my arms, holding his silhouette
in a haze all that morning, a phantom aching in my hips, my breasts
i never named him, and now it feels too late, too far gone
just some errant clip of synapses, the twenty minutes between dawn and waking

Chloe Bay is a first year BA Theatre (Acting) student from Vashon, Washington. She writes poetry about her life, about things that happened and things that didn’t, things she wished had happened, dreams she’s had, the things that happen in your head when you lay in the sun too long or look out the window too long. You can find Chloe on Instagram here.