spare time

Courtesy: Li Hui

Courtesy: Li Hui

It began, as all things do,
with blood.
A tight pinch, bright
red on my thighs
at the suburban
Chinese restaurant.

I ate glossy noodles
with Evan’s family,
celebrating Mother’s Day
with his grandmother,
while I bled onto toilet

paper wrapped carefully
around my underwear.
At home, it felt deeper,
cosmic, a galaxy unravelling
inside my belly.  

And that night, I labored
alone,
Evan down the hall,
awake and praying;
the light too bright
in the bathroom,
the toilet filling
with what we made,
my body canting as it
cleaved.          

In the gray morning,
we ate powdered
donuts from the gas
station, sugared
mouths sipping coffee,
a little lighter,
I played Rilo Kiley’s
“Pictures of Success”
over and over, my limbs
buzzing,
blood still pooling between
my thighs.