I was damp and cymbals were chattering between my thighs.
Jazz lights said undulate so I did.
It was thick heat,
mildew, eucalyptus,
and his fastness split open my egg.
I thought storms that changed my identity so many times
I didn’t know who I was when he pulled, twitching,
and collapsed.
Every passion has its catastrophe.
An embryo bloomed;
space phosphoresced inside me,
expanding in black ripples
like a night drowner
from the bridge above.
You cry
but it only deepens the river and worsens the current
and you know what must come next
from the knots in your belly.
The doctor pulled a skeleton from a pool of my blood,
my ovaries severed.
Death must remain nameless
for I do not know the name of the father.