Tidying my room at last, I found, br Amidst the empty cans, which left a reek, br And dusty books, the fading ultrasound br That she had sent me of the twentieth week. br I took the cans and threw them in a sack, br They’ll be recycled when I pass the bin, br I dusted off the books and put them back br Upon the dusted shelves, their words within. br So in my hand was left this dusty frame; br This photo that she’d said was of my child, br Before the birth, before we chose a name, br Before the DNA test made me wild. br I didn’t clean the frame, but damned my trust, br And threw it to the floor for further dust.