By Carly Quereto
My body
swollen. Something
not me: pervades my
used space, he
rounds me;
grounds me.
Cumbers my steps,
taking my breath, my
health, my pith.
I wait
weighted,
and yet drained
of my life-giving blood—
the unbounded
cost.
Host for his
growth I cannot
hold him—he will
not be
still.
Filled of me at last, he will
leave me, robbed
and ruined
to hope
he
will carry
with care
that of him which is me.
Carly Quereto is a graduate of BYU with a bachelor’s degree in creative writing. She is a writer of poetry and nonfiction, and a reader of anything she can get her hands on. Her creative essay, On Needing A Brother, was also previously published in Inscape. She currently lives in Provo, UT, with her husband and son.
Header image by Donnelly Clark, Inscape, Spring 2025 Contest
