Fertility
by Ann Bogle
Today I'm feeling fertilized by an egg—if you imagine those, as we started to: ova and sperm—then you wonder how many remain in us; each ovary, its own little purse, still presses one of her minks out to the vastness, through space, to the fluted arms of the fallopian tube to the uterus to the placenta to the cervix to the OB tampon. The blood stops there; the basket fills with roses. How many months, how many years until the last egg makes her solo promenade? Since menarche at fourteen, 360 ova have left my body, without a sigh or complaint, without rejection. Each she leaves her culture, her club, her coterie, and enters heaven, a near-hit virgin, loved yet never “barren.”
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Author's Note
(February 21, 2007)
http://annbogle.blogspot.com/2007/02/fertility.html
Appears in Luna Luna magazine on June 18, 2015:
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*, Ann. A YOU piece. I like it a lot.
Easily my favorite out of all your pieces.*
The possibilities.
Poignant. Beautiful. I concur with Amanda. *
"How many months, how many years until the last egg makes her solo promenade? "
Good writing, Ann. I like it.
"How many months, how many years until the last egg makes her solo promenade?"
continue to create till the last breath, if just to make carbon monoxide for the flowers, plants and trees.
beautiful poem
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I find this moving and sad and effective. It's almost as though you've surprised yourself. *
Wowzers! This is my third read and it finally hit me. The solo promenade. But, the exaltation of creating goes on and on. Witness your own artistry and legacy
which acts as a beacon for so many of us. So fabulous! ***
"each ovary, its own little purse, still presses one of her minks out to the vastness, through space". Yes*
Ah to be fertile, yet unfertilized. Good writing Ann.*
This last line, boffo
"Each she leaves her culture, her club, her coterie, and enters heaven, a near-hit virgin, loved yet never “barren.”
Hey, thanks, all appreciators. I just saw this on the recommended list! I am grateful to Luna Luna for publishing it in June.