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
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