Sonogram Vision
Emily Davis-Fletcher
Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest 2025 (view all the winners)
First Prize, Tom Howard, Poetry
Somehow moonlight in my womb
catches you, breath on a mirror.
Breach. Feet pressing craters
on my bladder. Wand on my wet belly sniffs
out your right arm, right hand in a calligraphy
of smoke. Behind my eyes appear two
gibbous moons, the bright shoulders of a ten-year-old boy.
Arms missing, swallowed by bombs in Gaza.
"Arms grow out of heart
cells," the wand holder says
as she searches for your left arm
in so much gray rubble and finds a
fist. "Open," I pray. I must know
how many fingers your heart has
sprouted. One. Two. Three. Four.
And thumb. Wow, wow, wow
called your heart echoing
my thoughts at 150 beats
per minute last month.
Now, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
Are you less in awe?
Your skull in profile grins.
"Scratch my chin, Mama," I hear
the other boy plead.
Please, not now. Come to me when I'm alone
driving a road I know like the dark side
of my teeth. When I'm at the cold light
of a computer and can send money
from within my country that sends arms.
"Dry my eyes, Mama."
I can't. I'm a willow laden with tinsel
bones and my boy who hides his arm,
a wick of dynamite lit from within.
This poem previously won the 2025 Oliver Bowman Memorial Prize sponsored by The Poetry Society of South Carolina.
