Month's End

Sometimes it comes slowly, a twinge
lower left abdomen, then right.
Dull pain, then constipation
await a run of tears, of liquid
coming from everywhere.
Hope sits a fleeting while
that somehow a child is in there,
one night forgotten in a quinine haze.
Then the pain fades,
a rusted river rips
layers of virtual baby from me
three drops at a time.