The Unborn in  General   

Sometimes I can almost see, around our heads,
Like gnats around a streetlight in summer,
The children we could have,
The glimmer of them.

Sometimes I feel them waiting, dozing
In some antechamber - servants, half-
Listening for the bell.

Sometimes I see them lying like love letters
In the Dead Letter Office

And sometimes, like tonight, by some black
Second sight I can feel just one of them
Standing on the edge of a cliff by the sea
In the dark, stretching its arms out
Desperately to me.

By Sharon Olds

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Other poems by Sharon Olds:

• A Week Later
• Crab
• One Year
• Primitive
• Sex Without Love
• The Arrivals
• The Borders
• The Daughter Goes To Camp
• The End
• The Mortal One
• The Pact
• The Space Heater
• The Unborn
• Topography