So many years have passed since that day
We first gazed upon Baby Paul’s chimerical image
Obscured in a blizzard of techno-snow.

The sonographer introduced us. She
Identified his head, hands, and feet.
He became our child in that moment before she
Suddenly, without warning, pursed her mouth and narrowed her eyes.
She scampered from the room and returned with
The Doctor, who perfunctorily descried
Our son was nonviable, without a heartbeat.

I met Paul just once
As I roused from anesthesia and demanded to see him.
He was a swirl of aspirated blood and tissue
Not yet human yet loved.

Jeff never witnessed our son’s
Mangled flesh. It was my solitary
Horror to say goodbye to our
Boy, reduced to a bio-hazard.

At last, I gathered the things we bought for him,
Which had long become the litter of our lives,
Boxed them and set them out in the
Neighborhood yard sale

Best Offer:
Baby shoes. Never worn.
Onesies. Still in original packaging.
Fit Moms. Spine Uncracked.
Receiving Blankets (Package of 4). Unopened.
Kate Spade Diaper Bag, New With Tags.

A woman, whose belly was stretched tight like a drum,
Handed me thirty dollars.
Avoiding the painful intimacy of neighbors, I nodded.
Our eyes meet furtively as her wife picked up the box,
Containing all that remained of our son.

I sold his fragile memory
For the price of a cheap dinner.

# # #

C. Christine Fair is an associate professor within the School of Foreign Service at Georgetown University. While she has published extensively, her previous publications have been scholarly nonfiction. She has published poetry in the Dime Show Review and has a poem forthcoming in Badlands Literary Journal. She also published a short story in New Reader Magazine.

Photo: Anton Darius | @theSollers