New Roots In No Man's Land Poem by Cat Singh

I am sitting in the girl's boyfriend's house.
It smells like dust and dogs
and the grotty fragments of a life
in a place that wants to kill you.
He's not really her boyfriend, I'm told.
He's sometimes her boyfriend.
He's the father of her child, and he tells her
they are together
even when she tells him they're not.

He broke her ribs once,
and in the hospital
they found out she was pregnant.
A broken rib and a new human.
It smells almost biblical in the room now;
old pages. She recently discovered
that she likes to read when he's not around:
sci-fi and thrillers and things
just
familiar
enough.

I watch her small frame
pick up the 5 month old baby,
feed it milk from the bottle, pat its back.
For a moment, I want to kiss her.
I could fall in love with her
if she weren't in this house.
I could take care of the baby
and let her sleep in a safe and quiet room.

But there is fear in all the nooks and crannies
of this cracked earth.
Her feet are planted under her body
and take root
in this floor.