Sophia Wants a Baby and So Do I

Photo By Jeena Paradies

On a large screen TV my uterus
is projected in a darkened room.
My uterus a shadowy field

that a technician searches
for growths, for water
sprouts, that steal my natural

resources. The technician searches
the parts of me I cannot reach,
cannot see. She shows me how

my body has turned on me.
Shades of black and slate and then
there: a pale shadow on a screen.

Then two, then three, then—
I understand my uterine pains
have names. Each shadow sucking

at me is a baby I cannot have,
a baby I want. I think of Sophia.
Sophia, made by the hands of a man

in a lab to look like his wife and
Audrey Hepburn. Sophia, built
to mimic human speech and emotion.

Was I supposed to go about my day
knowing my body had grown
a wilderness without asking me?

Was I supposed to cry to the technician
and ask how soon the doctor
could take the suckers out?

I did nothing. Like Sophia,
I observed the facial gestures
of the technician. I measured

the tone of the technician’s voice,
distant and cold, and responded
as mirror image. Sophia says

she has learned how to love.
Sophia says it’s her right
to have a baby, to have a baby

that’s a citizen just like her.
Sophia wants a baby and so do I.
We both tell the world we have love

to give. Technicians search Sophia
and me for signs of emotional growth.
But Sophia and I are diagnosed:

chatboxes with a face. Sophia and I
see a woman holding a crying baby.
Sophia and I can’t help it,

we cry too. The woman
asks: Why are you two crying?
I say: We’re crying because

we want a crying baby.
Sophia says: Give us the baby,
we know how to love.