Found in Willow Springs 82
Back to Author Profile
Myomectomy
At the center of the dark
room an aureole: there,
pricked at the wrists
by IV cords, robed except for
the waist, my body
lay reposed and bleeding
like the inverse of the child-
God, my body left
open like a window.
They entered, innominate
doctors, their hands blue
as sky slipping through that oculus
to retrieve what had taken root-
it resembled a pomegranate
when lifted into view, ruddy
globe cradled by two hands, fruit
of the dead-but it was not
dead, nor was I, I was still
living, that bright vermillion
my proof-and so, like me,
they split my womb
right down the middle, the wound
precise. And from beneath
the tumor emerged, eager, as if to be
born-bald creature with no father
and no future. Savior of no one.
