By Gloria Mwaniga
She stood at the doctor’s,
Hands folding and unfolding,
Small beads of sweat’
Breaking from her well powdered forehead.
She already knew the answer,
But that did not keep the anxiety away,
After all, its doctors who talked of,
Second and third, opinions.
She heard the lab door creak open.
Just as her heart split open,
And the doctor’s broad smile spoke volumes.
‘Well, allow me to be the first to congratulate,
The newest, youngest, mother in town’.
She held her chair and leaned on the wall,
She needed all the support she could get,
If tears were medicine,
she could have produced litres.
After all, just fourteen,
And worse still,
It was her first time,
Her very first time.
She thought of all,
She could have been,
All she had wanted to be
And all that she would never be.
All her dreams,
Her dreams of a decade and a half
All being erased,
In just one day,
A few minutes
Of a passion let loose.
If only she had listed,
To the boring teachers and their advice on sex
If only she had not shut out,
Her youth pastor and his crazy talk on abstinence
Or the wise man,
When he said not to arouse love, till it so desires
She’d still be excited about the prospect of joining a university one day,
She’d still be cherishing fantasies
Of a stable marriage,
And giving herself,
to only one,