It started with tenderness—
a small shift,
a hunger for oranges,
a sudden softness in the body.

And just like that,
I began to believe.

I walked slower,
chose names in secret,
held my breath beneath moonlight
as if silence could help something take root.

That month, I smiled at the future.
Hung baby clothes on a line in my mind.
Tucked the dream into my chest
like a folded note.

But when the red came,
it didn’t just stain—
it screamed.

And I learned again
how to grieve something
the world never saw.

---

Melba is a Dominican-American poet and author of Unplanted, Yet Flourishing, a debut poetry collection exploring the emotional reality of infertility through nature, grief, and resilience. Her work invites readers into the unspoken spaces of womanhood with tenderness and truth. Connect with her at @poeticnectarcollective, or at poetic-nectar-collective.company.site.