deepundergroundpoetry.com
She Was Born a Slave
A woman is a bloody thing.
Since the endometrium began to cleanse.
There used to be an Apache Sunrise Dance
for celebration.
But she- this woman was truly a bloody thing.
She gave birth in her youth to engagement rings
that knotted her heart until muddy divorce
burst the woven vagus nerve to start again.
She had a child now
and a crimson hand from another one
her family begged her not to have and that dependable man
that shoved her six-months due,
so at least everyone else aligned
on the scar where the baby poked and the square counter edge did
the day her eye swelled
and her father touched her again.
A woman is a bloody thing.
Her only son was shot on the street by a stray bullet,
but the little boy had it lodged in his lung
when the mother came
and tried to wipe the death away
and put pressure on the reality
that kept pouring out.
And making her alone.
She had dreams of humble living.
Never thought to make her own,
so the woman had no provision
over where the blood came out.
She belonged to a Spaniard
if only in a sense
that she was the mother to mestizos
and didn't know what college
or by what reason to impose.
Since the endometrium began to cleanse.
There used to be an Apache Sunrise Dance
for celebration.
But she- this woman was truly a bloody thing.
She gave birth in her youth to engagement rings
that knotted her heart until muddy divorce
burst the woven vagus nerve to start again.
She had a child now
and a crimson hand from another one
her family begged her not to have and that dependable man
that shoved her six-months due,
so at least everyone else aligned
on the scar where the baby poked and the square counter edge did
the day her eye swelled
and her father touched her again.
A woman is a bloody thing.
Her only son was shot on the street by a stray bullet,
but the little boy had it lodged in his lung
when the mother came
and tried to wipe the death away
and put pressure on the reality
that kept pouring out.
And making her alone.
She had dreams of humble living.
Never thought to make her own,
so the woman had no provision
over where the blood came out.
She belonged to a Spaniard
if only in a sense
that she was the mother to mestizos
and didn't know what college
or by what reason to impose.
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