My tiny body (D&E)
I’ll never be half a football field of nerves,
just a cell for a season’s-”“in a cell,
a miniature galaxy pregnant with possibility,
an alien with big black eyes watching
for the vacuum, of space taking is not my home.
I, being of sound mind and not much say, leave my few feeble cells to
my mother: my last testament to fight off disease for decades.
Flushed at this funeral, a little red-faced and now wasted:
somatic septic cells in fetal position rowing, then wading through fecal
mix in matters (too private to halt) with dioxins to incinerate lungs of pets and
pets that are children and yes, even, children, but that wouldn’t be green.
Pieces: umbilical, ambivalent, paraxial, personal, particles,
a gorey inconvenient truth, a choice warming in an all too earthen oven,
too full for responsibility to try ‘n muster the strength to alter a sound to see
my tiny body.