THE FIRST PREGNANCY TEST

is lighter than I thought it would be.
Smaller than a gun, I hold it and
imagine how bad it could hurt me.
Positive, negative, positive, negative,
positive, negative — boom.
I play Russian roulette and the lump
in my throat gets bigger.
It could pass for a penknife,
a blade for my envelope stomach.
Cut me open till a gaping smile
looks back at you. Positive,
negative, positive, negative.
I am a seesaw of emotions
for someone who just has
to piss on a stick. Cut me open
today and maybe, you’ll stare
right at the strangest thing,
growing inside of me. If in the
white lights of this bathroom
that isn’t mine, pregnancy
test in one hand, phone in another, I
get The News, I’ll saw myself open
until my body decides it should’ve
just bled on its own. Positive.
Negative. PositiveNegativePositive.
I thought this test would be
easy. Pink paper, instructions
in blue. Positivenegativepositive.
The stick is heavy between my
legs — each dribble another echo
of what could be. Positive, negative,
positive, negative, numb. My
legs shake as I clench, and the waiting
game begins. 1. I would rather die 2.
Body bleed, bleed just this once 3. How
can I raise a child when I’m still
not grown? 4. I beg my vagina for good
news. 5. Positive.
Negative.
Posit—positive—
—positively negative.
And boom. I wipe myself down,
rip apart the pink packaging.
Today, Russian roulette had no
bullets. Tomorrow, my body
will throw itself into the gauntlet
again, and I will be right next
to it, hoping it’s a blank.

Anisha Drall is from Gurgaon, India, but currently lives in Singapore, where she attends Yale-NUS College. Her work has previously appeared in Vagabond City Lit, Germ Magazine, and Rising Phoenix Review. You can find her on Instagram, at @anisha.drall