1/30 Back curled like unfinished brush stroke Her open mouth screamed like runaway train. Her jagged fingernails drove into my wrists. I breathed through the pain In a way that she no longer could. In between contractions striking like tsunami fists upon unsuspecting shore I untied the back of her faded hospital gown Gently pulled it open and slid it down her shoulders Until it dangled underneath breasts like heavy grape clusters Held up by belly like ripe melon. Does any tree suffer so to bear its fruit? The anesthetist poured Betadine like blood orange juice Beheld the blank canvas of her back Prepared to make his mark like Picasso’s oils And asked, “Did you read the epidural information sheet?” The nurse thrust a photocopied paper into her face As if printed language could be absorbed through epidermis As if insistence could equal understanding. She hissed breath like steam engine Felt urgency like congested lungs And cried operatic pain like mezzo-soprano. I leaned in, Smelled amniotic fluid like salty ocean Scented yoni musk like wine bouquet And whispered, “Would you like me to read it to you?”
Posted on: Wed, 02 Apr 2014 03:46:50 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015