For Those Who Wish To Be, and Yet Are Not



Each month, I track the moon
As it fattens and then thins.
I remain, without symptoms,
Wanting to be waxing.
We try   we don’t try   I scroll
Calendar squares, vaginal fluid
Phantom sensations   Are my breasts rising balloons?
Tarot cards and
We wait   I wait
And an old dream
Of ten little fingers and ten little toes rock-a-bye
Byes. Each month, my heart
Climbs its high ladder …
Each moon results
In so much blood rushing
When I walk away.



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