A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
She wasn’t watching when they cut him
Out. C-section, you know. Green drape
Obscuring the mound of ripened belly
They extracted him from. He spilled
Out squalling, already starving. Still
Stitching her up, they fastened him
To her breast so he could feed. There
He rooted for the milk, so lustful
In his sucking that weeping roses
Grew from the edges of her nipples.
For weeks, they festered there,
Blooming bloody trails anew each
And every time he made a meal of her.
I know what you’re thinking.
But he was her child.
She had to let him
Do that to her.
Copyright 2018 Kate Daniels.
Reprinted from Five Points vol. 18, #2 2017. To be published In the Months of My Son’s Recovery by Kate Daniels. Forthcoming from LSU Press (2019).