I wonder sometimes about those other pregnant bellies, of who grows in there. Will they make it live and well into their mothers arms. I wonder how far long are those women, how much longer, is it a boy or girl. I can’t bear to look at their bellies but I catch a glimpse. I see expanding noses, see them wobbling along and I wonder, will their babies die? Or was that just me! Do they not speak of pregnancy in front of me because they pity me or is it because they are considerate. What will it feel like to hold a live baby again. I felt that once but I have almost forgotten. I am tainted. A stain in the tapestry. I am the sad grieving mother that will never know her daughter. I long to know you. I long to hold you. To feel you grow within me. I long to hope.