Dandy-Walker Syndrome
The sono room is dressed in black:
crepe streamers, balloons easing out
their air, some floating down where Roy
can reach them, bounce them back up,
a festive-40 prank that shocks
you on the day we'll see baby two,
finally past the miscarriages
you bore, draining you slowly as
you stayed at work, taught your classes.
And now this. Roy asks, "Why is she
taking so many pictures, dad?
We already know it's a boy,
And saw his hands and feet and head."
And it's his head she's aiming for,
making you nauseous, peering so
long at that spot of fluid in
the brain, that dark reservoir,
that splash of ink that hasn't gone.