Thursday, January 8, 2015


The bath

There was the bath and its tub
filled with lavender and water.

The difficult placement of my
rounded body into it.

My flesh warmed in increments.
Back sinking slowly into it.

The twitch then a heated head.
I pulled the drain cord out

and my body explodes as a cork
from a champagne bottle,

rockets to the same drain and you
say: those were your waters, non?

Our two baths done, I lean on you
to climb out of deep tile

and you lead me crouched over
to the living room’s futon couch

splayed open last night and still
speckled with eggshell bits of plaster

from the pregnancy cast. The baby’s
black head already there, I push

the body out. You cut the blood-soaked
cord and he comes to my chest. Tininess

Filled with soft bones and exposed brain.
Our cries imprinted into the walls.



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