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