Life and Death in the Land of Women

Roundness,Softness curling at the edges,At the dredges of who She wasThat was smothered by who She will be.Gasps,She grasps at the sheet beside HerWhile the thing inside HerWrithes with newfound life.Maybe a wife,Maybe alone,But atoning this is not.She’s hot, She’s sweating,And then She’s throwing up,These screaming voids,The noise alone would kill a man.She is split openBy a knife, a life, the harrowing scythe of painAnd everything cracksLike an egg before frying.She’s crying and She can’t stop,Make it end.Her rod of life begins to bendAnd the block is gone but now,Now She hears it,The first breath of that flower,Her power,That thing She grew.She thought She knew itBut it knew Her better.The consternation of a nameAmid the shock of saying “girl.”She was girl once too,But She is newAnd bestowed a titleThat adorned Her mother,And the mother before that,And before that,Before all things.She died and lived a thousand timesTo live a thousand livesIn Her daughter’s eyes.