Jill Koren
Photo: rpongsaj
Normal again
Or rather never
Blood in such rushes
I have never seen
Bursting from me
In hot spurts
With each cough
And the end
A twisted sack—fig-like—
Sunken
In a clear pool:
A child,
My, our, your child
Or a dream
Lost
A sonogram
Showed us two
Black holes
The next time
I bleed it is
Normal again
Darker
Heavier but
Never
Again
Just blood
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