still not pregnant: a poem

{every so often, my words come out not as prose but as poetry, thanks to those creative writing workshop assignments in college.}

Still Not Pregnant

Heaviness settles on my shoulders
like last summer when

the plane arrived late,
DFW’s crowded strips
slowing our taxi across
rain-covered tarmac.

Grabbing my red Osprey pack
Hoisting it onto my shoulders
(almost a small child, piggy-back)
I ran.

Rather, I scuttled.
Awkwardly and desperately.

Through the terminal
up the escalator
onto the Skylink
off the Skylink
down the escalator
through another terminal
to another gate
where they had just closed the door.

The lady behind the counter with the nice smile
watched
as I dropped my pack
and cried.

Nothing seems to be in my control.