you were born on Easter
toes small as peas, hands clawing the air
my womb collapsing with the sudden emptiness
blood spreading like night beneath me
surely to god you’d think
at least some bells should ring
fourteen days and I signed the papers
stepped out into sunlight
that melted over me like butter
my breasts still weeping
my womb still bleeding
your hands, I’m sure, still reaching
surely to god you’d think
at least some bells should ring
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