By Samuel Edwards
She bounces into the room, and she is so excited and so nervous and can’t wait to tell me, and of course I join her in jubilance and joy. But there’s something holding me back. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Then she shows me an app on her phone, which tracks the baby’s size and development, and what to expect at four weeks. Like the placenta beginning to form and the implantation bleeding. And here’s the kicker; it’s as big as a poppy seed. Right at this very instant, that baby is the same size as what litters the top of my bagel.
I think that’s why I’m not as enthusiastic, not as connected, and why my heart doesn’t yearn like hers… Because it’s the size of a poppy seed, and with all the will in the world, I can’t love a fucking poppy seed.
Samuel Edwards was born and raised in Leeds, England, and no matter how far away he gets, he is always compelled to return to Yorkshire. He has a Bachelor of Arts Honours Degree from the University of Leeds, and enjoys dark coffee, even darker chocolate, and long walks. Samuel writes mainly to impress his pet cat, a feat he will never accomplish. Previously published in Vestal Review and Fairfield Scribes, among others. He can be found on Twitter at @Sam_Edwards1990.
The Birdseed 