Glimmer, or When the Nurse Asks Is There a Chance

You’re pregnant or could 
become            pregnant? 
 
I summon a cough      to puncture
the ensuing silence {scrape
on a frozen lake}
 
             she marks a swift blue circle 
             ballpoint to clipboard 
             {the sound       of certainty}
 
half an inch                 to the right 
would tell another mother’s story
 
             I could say      hope
             is the thing with shadows 
             beneath her eyes         
 
{dreaming awake 
counting her age
calculating viabilities}
 
             I could say      hope
             eludes hands
             glides toward  and away 
 
traces patterns
of its own        
                                    unmaking