Sometimes it comes slowly, a twinge
lower left abdomen, then right.
Dull pain, then constipation,
await a run of tears, of liquid
coming from everywhere.
Hope sits a fleeting while
that somehow a child is in there,
one night forgotten in a quinine haze.
Then the pain fades,
a rusted river rips
layers of virtual baby from me,
three drops at a time.

Sonja Broderick

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/month-s-end/