Doubled over in a gown, she is fear
Pinching feeling in her stomach like its
Near
Grow, pierce, adhere.
Waiting, waiting for the fractured cries
To plunge through the skies like its
Alive—

Soon, it’s close, and cold, and her coffin
Breaths sound like rocking
Cradles in the light, the sound she hears
A lightyear away
An echo; a reminder
Of the pain, coming forth like a Grim reaper.
No preparation.
It comes like a curse. Loudly suffering, she goes into the
Height of it all, head heaving—
and heavy—
and hellish—

When it arrives like mountain dew
Wrinkled, a peeled grape
Cooing, bubbling
No zygote, nothing but Mary
Holding her child of Love;
Soft and sweet like sugar sheets.
Warped around a golden light
By then, she knew, she couldn’t go by the old name
It will have her tongue, her thumb, her thick time
Just like it had her tummy
Forevermore