by Karo Ska
inside me, strawberry jam
thickens
before leaking, dripping
then gushing. an 11 day early knock
at my cervix door. the moon
& me unsynced.
the moon: predictable, well-
behaved. not me. not
this month. does my flesh crave
reproduction? is it angry
i won’t host a family
of cells? i have
no home, no land i can call
my own. i can’t grow
children without roots,
i can’t grow glass
inside my skin. i flush
ragged parts of me, refusing
a darwinian legacy. what
is success of species
in a world of children
caged or children
shot or children
starved? what is success
if not burgundy blood, flowing
down my leg, screaming
i’m alive.
RESURRECTION mag 