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Image by Süleyman Coskun

Six Years After

Ovaries, lymph nodes, uterus, omentum— 

each womanectomy plunged me 

under water beneath stitched-up skin.


What’s left of me, still here on the shore, 

breathing. Old waves of cancer sparkle, 

stained-glass earth under my feet.


I am goddess with belly as empty as a ghost,

giving birth to fresh bundles of sentences 

on the pregnant silence of the page —


sacred cargo I pull out of my throat, 

cradle and rock into the world 

to tell the underground story of me.


A religion, this bellowing of my light.

I blow it into musty corners,

gather gold from scarred crevices,


watch it color my world.

Published in Exponent II Magazine, 2023


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