Pro-Life

Flattened mesothelial cells line the serosa; 

That is, we lie on the floor face down,

Foreheads pressed to cold institutional tile,

Arms out, bellies to the linoleum,

Cheeks to the grit.

This is all there is and all there will ever be, 

Our boundaries breached, our

Eyes lifted to the small window where the

Sun peeks through scratched plexiglass saying, 

The sky is here just behind me

still here though the bars.

There might be a gun to my shoulder blades

There might be rules to keep me down but

Nothing is growing here

Nothing curls inside me and flicks its vestigial tail

Or swims through the murk

Dreaming of its day to get out.

-

The Cathedral

The broken mussel shell buried in sand

Doesn’t care if I worship there or not.

This is the God of Forgetting.

I have no memory of hiking the Rhododendron Trail pregnant.

I have no memory of what you asked me to remember.

I forget what you said.

I wasn’t listening.

The pelican landing splayed-legged in the water

Doesn’t care if I think he looks stupid.

He catches fish every damn time

This is the God of Just Now

Of not bringing anything back to the nest 

Of the thing with no eyes 

That lived in the shell

And doesn’t even know that it is dead.