by Steph Amir
Popcorn
A snake slithers across the floor, flickers, and dissolves into the floorboards.
Cockroaches run up the wall. First one, then two, then dozens; a black swarm that buzzes like bees.
Perhaps they actually are bees, but they’re black. Then white. Then a shimmer and a dark smudge.
The dark smudge pulses and quivers.
Dad, can I have some popcorn? asks Violet.
Sure, he replies, and pours the kernels into a saucepan.
He is almost certain that there aren’t any rats running down his arms, but [POP!] it’s hard [POP!] to [POP!] say for sure.
The Wait
there are one hundred and thirty-nine days
until daylight savings starts again
I look down the tunnel at
frozen fingers, icy water running down my neck
dark nights, grey days, cycling past the pool
with puffy jackets on, watching it turn green
slimy with neglect
summer’s in my blood, I say
Greek blood, Sephardic blood
like my blood’s not equally Irish
like it’s never 11 degrees and
raining in Thessaloniki
at home there’s a patch of sunshine
my daughter and I share
lying on bare floorboards
arms pressed against each other
it’s best to make the most of it:
we roast chestnuts but burn our fingers
we let them cool but they turn into rocks
it’s best to make the most of it:
we go ice-skating and learn that
sliding on knives is surprisingly terrifying
there are twenty-three days
until daylight savings starts again
when the smell of jasmine
hits me in the chest
I slam on the breaks
drop my bike on the footpath
to bury my face in
a stranger’s garden
steal a small sprig of hope
hide it in my pocket
small petals remain intact
as I unthaw my hands on a coffee cup
(it’s best to make the most of it)
giddy with relief
when I text my mum to share my joy
she replies with photos of me as
a baby in a snowsuit, scowling
a toddler in a sun-drenched pool, enraptured
summer’s in my blood, I say
I can almost smell the nectarines
Optimism
Welcome to Melbourne Fertility. Can you sign this form for me?
It’s fourteen-thousand per attempt, and most of that’s rebate-exempt.
Internal ultrasound. Form’s by the door. It’s probably fine. Best check to be sure.
There’s a problem with your STS gene. I’ll write a referral, get you screened.
The ultrasound is inconclusive. Your ovary, somewhat elusive.
Blood tests. More blood tests. AMH. HIV. Rubella. Iron. Vitamin D.
There’s two needles every night. You’re ok with needles, right?
Side effects: nausea, getting mad. Range from mild to pretty bad.
Donor 624 – is he the one? These waiver forms, and then you’re done.
Call us when you start to bleed. Here’s some extra things to read.
It’s just a short hospital stay, then we’ll be done for today.
Embryo’s in. Hope it stuck! Call us in two weeks. Good luck!
Your results are back from pathology. It’s not good news today, sorry.
Did you want to try again? You’re booked for Tuesday. See you then.
Steph Amir is an emerging poet with a background in research and policy. In 2021, she was a Writer’s Victoria Writeability Fellow. Her poems have been published in Australia and internationally, including by Australian Poetry Journal, Burrow, Foam:e, Plumwood Mountain, StylusLit, TEXT, The Victorian Writer and others. Instagram: @steph_kaymir.
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