Not Pregnant Again by Whitney Koo

I do a little dance for myself.

Turn to my husband and shout

It’s beer for dinner tonight, baby!

I have fun with myself. 

I pull out the newborn 

onesie with the graphic rainbow babe.

The truth: I’ve never wanted a baby.

I just want to hold myself for a little while. 

Tonight, I’m two steps off the dance floor.

Tonight, I’m swathed across the neck

by the baby pink knitting I made no use for. 

The sky is an eyelid pried open with two fingers. 

I’d like to crawl up and cradle in the hammock of 

the backside of the earth’s lid. This death happens 

in the motion of floating down 

on the crook of an umbrella handle. 

It isn’t too difficult. 

The inside of the world the inflated lung 

of an expanding universe. And you see yourself 

under so much light, like an ant scouring under

the desk lamp for crumbs.

Whitney Koo is a Visiting Assistant Professor at Texas Tech University and the Founder/Editor-in-chief of Gasher Press. She holds a PhD in English-Creative Writing from Oklahoma State University and an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Colorado Boulder. Her work has appeared in journals such as Colorado Review, Jet Fuel Review, American Literary Review, Heavy Feather Review, Bayou Review, and others. Find her at www.whitneykoo.com

2 October 2023