from this

 

when gagging on

the stench

of death’s hot sewer

breath,

one remembers

the flower smell

in a lover’s hair.

 

i tell myself

fear is

transcendable.

 

runaway injustices

stampede our bodies

and stomp on our faces,

crushing air from our lungs and

shitting on our brains.

 

they say we’re dead, but

we still claw at

the lid of the coffin.

 

darkness is absolute

except for the light behind

our eyes that we cannot

seem to extinguish.

 

we get close in the dark coffin.

 

then she whispers,

‘i’m pregnant.’

 

‘i’ll save it,’ i say, and

i prepare the hanger.

 

 

but the baby comes fast,

faster than our wheezing

breaths.

 

it comes.

its little hand melts

the walls and eviscerates

the monsters in

our darkblind eyes.

 

this baby is so strong.

stronger than us.

 

we teach it all we know,

which we know is not enough.

 

for instance,

we cannot teach her how

to get out of

this.

 

our bodies turn to dust.

 

she is a seed in dead soil.

 

elsewhere

i remember st. helens

and the life after

explosion.

 

i see a slender fawn

gallop through a

world of ash.

 

i cry and see it rain.

our baby sticks her tongue out

to catch the water.

 

her mother taught her that.

 

i think,

maybe she will make it.

maybe.

 

she just might.

 

 

 

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