The Mourn

a poem about the emotional trauma of hysterectomy in time, eggs drop as they maya crimson furnace burnswaits for themthen rejects even the idea of babies babies that refuse to be boundand tear their way outleaving you to your stitchesthese eggs, they stay now…where are they to go?a furnace burnt outremoved scoop by scoopfleshy … Continue reading The Mourn