Below is the poem entitled a white space Part 3 which was written by poet
Bawden. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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(Eliza strokes the door. A thought is visibly pushing through her mind)
Eliza: I think...I want to know.
Martha: How does it feel?#
Eliza: There''s something there. Right behind it. Someone. Pulling me.
Martha: Eliza...why are you here?
Missie: Oh stop prying. She''s just gonna leave soon anyway. They all do.
Eliza: We tried for months. Toby and I. You know, we never quitre fit, and I always thought that a baby would be the glue that we needed to fit us together. A little kicking screaming ball of glue. And when I fell pregnant he looked at me like he loved me, genuinly loved me, for the first time since I had met him. People held us like we were real. Held me, like I existed. All fat and full and real. Four months. That''s all it lasted. It ended in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. He did his best, Toby. He held my hand when I cried...for a while. Tollerated me lying in bed for days on end...for a while. He just didn''t understand.
Missie: You mean he didn''t care. Look, the guy didn''t want a baby. God, move on already.
Eliza: I tried! But we weren''t right. We didn''t fit. Just going through the motions. In the end we were juust faking...we both knew it. We were off to my brother''s wedding, big fake smiles painted on, and I ended up here.
Missie: He sounds like a right catch...
Eliza (deffensively): Yeah? And why are you here? You don''t have enough compassion to mourn, let alone to be a mother.
Missie: I didn''t have a kid. I had a cyst growing under my school shirt. An ever expending mistake, for the whole world to see, so fat I couldn''t see my own feet. I found the thing parents. Soppy freaks like you guys. You know, people who would actualy give a shit. And the ungrateful thing stripped avery inch of life from me. Died and took me with him. I was forteen. Fourteen. Tell me how that''s fair.
Eliza: Do you know what''s not fair? I wanted, needed nothing more than a baby. You drop your nickers in some dirty nightclub, get given this, this gift, and you want to give it away! That''s what''s not fair.
(Martha hasn''t seen such confronation in fifty years. She pulls Eliza away from Missie)
Martha: Eliza, give her a chance. It''s all front. She''s not as awful as she seems. She''s sad. Just like us.