blood promise

 

do i need the guts

the monthly promise

of my body to make a child

do i need it

 

do i need the hormone rush

the sweet stink of blood and shit

do i need it

 

do i need the water it brings

the pooling of my ankles, fingers

the exhalation of my belly

the soft stones that hold the tears i was afraid to shed

do i need them

 

do they make me an honest woman

productive

a disciple to my art

 

do the guts inform my work

spine the poems i write

apple my crushes

bless anything

but the waiting game

the promise of my body to make

a specific art

to create someone

that no one else can

 

but if the seed never comes

i mean, never

did i need all of this, all of these years

do i need them now, the specific guts

 

will a seed ever catch

like a crochet hook

and loop all of the questions

into one sweet girl, maybe

or do they slow my adventuring

for a making that may never come