so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"

The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"

untangle your limbs
from the odd position
you wake up in
comb your fingers
through your knotted, ginger hair
streeetttchhhhh.
sit up,
look out the window
see if it's a nice enough day
to keep breathing for
hm.
maybe it is.
think about libraries
and walks to rivers
but mostly about
scrubbing off
the dried mascara
on your face
smile.
right there and then.
only because someone told you
that if you smiled enough
it would make you happy.
like magic.
try not to remember
the empty room
next door
and the stop-motion
perfume
on her vanity
realize that this is only
day one...
smile
gone