Tupelo 17/30: Five Years of Infertility, Ending With a Child

Dear Reader, 

I truly believe that poetry matters, and yesterday, Maggie Smith's "Good Bones" went viral, as readers around the globe connected to a poem that acknowledged how heartbreaking the world is and how we wish for a better, safer place for our children: "This place could be beautiful,/right? You could make this place beautiful."

That was the first poem I read, and after immediately sharing it on Facebook, I didn't think I had anything to add to poetry for the day. I took a long walk to the Sewanee Natural Bridge and climbed down to a explore the sandstone sinkhole, following the slippery trail as far as I could without fear of falling off the edge or getting lost. 

Whenever I find myself alone in these gorgeous and surreal natural spaces, I feel hollowed out or rinsed, as if so much of what I had been carrying, invisible to me, has been removed. I don't usually want to write, and yesterday was no exception. I carried that stillness home and did everything except write. But I was thinking about one possible poem, a donation incentive request for my friend and colleague Tina Zappile, who asked me to write about her infertility ending with the birth of her daughter. 

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, more than 5 million people (of child-bearing age), or one in ten couples, have problems with infertility. I suppose no one shares this statistic with you when you're a teen because they don't want young people to play the odds (more than they already do). However, as I set out to conceive, and I watched many of my friends do the same, I was stunned by how hard it was to get pregnant. When I did get pregnant, I was afraid of telling people in case I miscarried and because others were still trying. 

Today's poem has been my most challenging donation incentive request because it's a sensitive topic that I wanted to honor. I thank Tina for entrusting me with this writing prompt and I've dedicated the poem to her daughter Florence. It's another reason why poetry matters: to help us grieve and celebrate together. 

Here is an excerpt from "Five Years of Infertility, Ending With a Child" (read the full poem on Tupelo Press' 30/30 blog): 

"...Off the path,

an hundred-year sycamore squats, the trunk itself,
a flash of lightning or a woman whose hips lie even

with knees, torso lifted toward sky. Hair extending
past arms overhead, she leans into the universe

behind her. I’m not a tree. I’ve not covered
the distance to the moon yet and may not in this

one life. It took five years to plant the seeds
they sent to orbit the moon. Five years, I clocked

my body’s tidal forces, but each month the blood
came. I’d spent my whole life up to that moment

not wanting a child and now this need was all
I knew. I didn’t dream of bright-faced cherubs,

though my mother did and she told me...."

Readers, I am so grateful for this project and your support and encouragement. I have written on days I didn't think I could write, and I've written poems on topics I may have avoided. 

There are thirteen days left in the month. I still have FIVE remaining titles available. If you would like to claim one of these, please see my first posting for incentive amounts and make your way to the Tupelo Press donation page. Be sure to select my name from the scroll down tab titled "Is this donation in honor of a 30/30 poet?" After you've donated, be sure to email (edigiorgio@gmail.com) or Facebook message me your requests.

Of course, once I am out of titles, you can still select five words for a poem, give me a potential theme/topic, offer a formal challenge, or receive a chapbook at the end of this project. And if you're enjoyed reading poetry this month, you might consider a subscription to Tupelo. You'll receive 9 books for $99, which is a steal! You can also *gift* this subscription to someone else (including me!)...I have friends and students who would be delighted to be the recipient. 

Yours in poetry,

Emari