Disabled Womb

I forgot to cut his nails,
But it was too late.
I put him in his harness,
And ended up on the ground-
For he hated it,
He wanted freedom,

People knew right away,
Something was wrong,
Beneath those luscious thick eyelashes,
The wild eyes narrated,
A story of their own.
A story too wild, too painful,
For a nine-year old.

I finally managed to put him,
In the harness and dragged him,
While applying a Band Aid over
My fingers, cursing myself,
For not cutting his nails.
I took good care of him,
But there was only so much,
That I could have done,

I mechanically entered the stone building,
His teeth glued together,
with chewy toffee,
The dentist said it was bad for his teeth,
But it was the only remedy,
For all the snarling and growling,
Times when he lost control.
Please sign here,
The matron said,
I didn’t know my name anymore.
I could feel him stiffen beside me,
And for the second time,
I was again on the ground,
For the second time,
Those nails pierced me,
And blood flowed again.

For once, his eyes,
Weren’t wild. They were scared,
His fingers quivered as he whispered,
‘Ma’ over and over again,
The matron seized him and ruffled his
Glossy black hair,
And I left, searching,
For a Band Aid big enough,
To heal my bleeding womb.

I returned home,
Where the taps wouldn’t turn on at 3 am,
Where the knives wouldn’t rest on my pillow,
Where the walls wouldn’t be lined with mattresses,
Where no neighbour would ask again,
Where no disabled child would laugh again,
Where no one will know of my mishap,
Where I wouldn’t be a mother anymore,
With a disabled womb.

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Rumana Mehdi

Rumana Mehdi is a Pakistani poet living in the USA. She is the author of the poetry collections 'My Peace Poems', and 'Lilies, Gunpowder and Dreams'.

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