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