Caroline Riley

Not Babies

I want to make something ugly,
something to outlast this armpit life.

So, babies are out of the question;
too cute, and all adorned by floral

names I’ve had picked out for years.
My not-babies are never boys,

no fire truck sheets not-lining their cribs,
no brutish not-puppies under the Christmas tree.

I love Christmas. It’s more ugly
than most people care to admit,

more leg-lamp in the window
than anything else. Ugly things

last: cast iron skillets, sturdy thermoses,
and shoes— the practical and pinchy kind

I was made to wear for Easter vigils,
stems stockingless, knees knocking cold.

Maybe my not-babies will live
in a beach-scene snow globe all year, not here

nor there: never fearing death,
only what not-death can do.

My maternal yearning might not-die with them, too.

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Caroline Riley is a poet living in Morgantown, West Virginia. She is a current student in West Virginia University's MFA program and holds a BA from the University of Maryland. This is her first publication.