at first i wondered why

this feeling so familiar

this blow to my gut

these tears upon the bed


how could I forget

that love has fists

or that when need surmounts

it takes without request


yet even closer still this feel

to infants

stolen from my womb

before their time


hope returned to earth

watered by despair

recycled time and time again


to be abducted

somewhere down the hall

nurtured by machines

more adequate than me

while my breasts leak with their desire


oh mary, mother of god


how is it that the dream is stolen

an infant in one moment

suckling at your breast

suffering this torturous death the next


help me

for i yearn to look away

from this twisted face of love

that cleaves


yet i know i can’t

i must remain to gather pain into my arms

and attend to this body

that i love


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M.C. Reardon


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