Tonight a neighbor in blue adidas shorts and a white muscle tank
jogged by while his son, wearing a light-bulbed helmet,
peddled with ferocity in order to keep pace.
Struck by the smallness of the child,
the vulnerability of space between them
and the lack of street lights, I took a deep breath
and wondered, with far reaching skepticism if I could
ever trust the world enough to get pregnant.
I thought of you, in that moment, and questioned if that’s
why you’re childless and still mothering the world
at age 75.
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