Unplanned, Unspoken

The brochure flaps against cracked pavement,

its edges curled like a sigh caught in winter’s breath.

She crosses the street,

hands cradling a belly like a fragile secret.

The stroller waits, empty,

a plastic shell, cold and hollow,

shining under a pale sun that knows nothing of hope.

The air tastes thin with unsaid questions,

a breath held too long between two worlds.

I trace the crease of the paper,

the faded print that promises futures

no one can promise, not really.

And wonder about the weight

of something unchosen,

that still demands a place.

The wind takes the pamphlet,

folding it away like a silence too sharp to speak,

while she moves on,

stubborn, quiet, already lost in the day.