600 ccs
of blood, loose in her belly.
Errant zygote is    

killing her. Doctor
stuck consulting a lawyer
takes 9 hours to

even begin to
save her life – to ensure they
aren’t arrested.  

Eleven thirty
pm, June the twenty-fifth
in a trigger state.  

She could be someone
you know, someone you love, she
might not have even  

known when she woke that
morning, ectopic cells would
rupture tubing, leave

her at death’s door. That
six hundred ccs? Equals
twenty ounces, more

than a pint – pressing
distending, drowning organs
unabated pain.

Six weeks “pregnant” is
two weeks late. I was that once.
My blood? It came, the

usual way. I 
won’t be quiet, while those with
working uteri  

fall dead. And they will.
And they have. And they will. And
they have. And they will.