Letter to the child that I'm planning not to conceive

I’m sorry

It never came,

that maternal calling to soften the bone cage

Around vascular organs

It never piped a fitful harmony of desire,

It just stayed ...steady, kept saying, no not yet, I’m not ready

I’m sorry I never let fate drive this decision

Prepared for your invasion

As one would for natural disasters, my specific Armageddon

Our survival kit has no preserved food, water tanks and toilet paper roll

Instead, we stockpile daily progesterone, condoms and emergency withdrawal

I’m sorry, I won’t get to see

An imitation of the cosmos in your eyes like I do in his

There won’t be another with the same tranquillity, laugh and let be sensibility

No one will have his thirst for activity, gentle strength with sensitivity

He will remain, one of a kind to me

I am sorry, that they are right

About me

I am selfish, I won’t sacrifice

Years of sleep, and sex, live music and impulsive late nights

I won’t put dreams on hold, give up my identity

Am frightened of irreversibly

Damaging my body

I am sorry I don’t have optimism to conceive

A future for you, beyond

Droughts, flooding and antibiotic-resistant disease

Insecurity of water, food, and energy

That of wars, mass migration and waste filling the seas

I am scared of permanency

A direction without exits feels like a trap

So despite being told that now there is urgency

You are a commitment I cannot retract

I cannot exchange for refund

Reverse, turn round and find my way back

Laden by the weight of expectations

That try to put me in my place

Attempting to shrug off the layers of patriarchy

That tells me I put my sex to waste

That I should not aspire a different life to this

Seek another purpose to exist

I know

That to conjure you resolute of these worries

Would be remiss,

And that is one sorry, I wouldn’t let myself forgive