The Maple in the Driveway
I never witnessed the geography of my womanhood so plainly, the ultrasound a topographical map, illuminated the hard camber and narrow archway of my uterus
I never witnessed the geography of my womanhood so plainly, the ultrasound a topographical map, illuminated the hard camber and narrow archway of my uterus— while the surrounding contour climbed and plummeted like a spool of ribbon snaking across a pane of film no larger than a greeting card—
Two little embryonic meteorites struck down into the porous clay of my womb and rooted without invitation, like the maple tree in the center of our driveway that wormed up through the cement, dividing the driveway into a map of its own
the continents drifting towards the lawn as if to say unapologetically I’m here, I’m here—
While I am elsewhere, despite being anchored to the examination table, my body a column of cement tipping towards the floor, I notice the sterility of the room, it is not lost on me, I notice the jars lined along the countertop, the plasticine cross section of the womb
absent of a fetus, teetering on a shelf, but I am not here, am I—
The nurse presses one, fat thumb onto the ultrasound and says,
“You’ve got twins,”
I see the single thumbprint greased across the sheen,
I see the single thumbprint greased across those two tiny craters
those tiny craters that border the estuary, the left fallopian tube and vomit immediately.
Four weeks earlier, breasts like sandbags,
I’d eyed that accusatory blue cross , sitting on the sink, as if it were my executioner, and in disbelief, produced three more
one after another, the slow, unbearable creep of fluid across a piece of cotton no larger than a fingernail-- only to announce again the math of it was coming up all addition.
“You’ve got twins,” I heard the nurse say again but I am not there am I--
I am in my driveway, wrenching the maple from the pavement, clutching the trunk between my hands, wringing and tugging and choking the thing as if the absurd notion of a maple growing in the driveway had just now occurred to me;
Down on my hands and knees, I clawed into the earth and seized the maple by the roots, plucking it from the pavement, and just before tossing it across the lawn, screamed
nothing grows here, nothing grows here!
About the Creator
Ashley McCauliff
A Massachusetts native, whose heart is in Vermont. Received a BFA in creative writing from Johnson State College, Roger Rath Mark Canavan Award for best BFA writer in the program and a two week fellowship to the Vermont Studio Center.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Comments (2)
I am confused. Where is the poem? Did You quick-edit to delete the words after it placed in the competition, or is the entire poem just the title, subtitle, and the picture?
I love the way you expand this moment and really bring the reader in with such strong emotional language. The image of the tree growing is so compelling, it's going to stay with me. Thank you.