I Drop a White Pill in My Sink

& bleed elsewhere one following, ripe month. Finger daggered,

toothbed exposed girl-wet & teasing, my breast tugged away from my chest:

a zippered wound—red red river, overflowing river, appled midnight—moon

a bitten core. Doesn’t really matter. My knee skinned to bone. My razored

thigh. Licking the sink side like drinking the snow. Apparently Edna. Apparently

my mother. Apparently I will never be holdable again. Tongue-cut

metal. The whole world metal. The whole world one small paper box. A paper cut

on my earlobe. Thin cut like a toothbrush bristle. Never why. My thighs all-over harsh. Dreams

hard as marl. I cut my feet again and again. On my dreams. I cast my ash in the river. I earned

this. I walked in Georgia. If  you give a girl an abortion, she’s going to ask

for another abortion. So the story goes. A blister presses crisp as a shirt, relinquishes blood

there beneath skin: lagoonal. My private party. My tv turned down. Snow turned

to rain. Body backlit and finally: dripping. Bleeding. The sink is a stilted oracle. She drains. I drain.

Un-weft, I wept. I never told my mother.