Sitting here, waiting for the tiny patch
of uterus I have left
to discharge its bit, still under my ovaries’ rulership. It
might happen in hours. It might happen in days.
For weeks, Roe v. Wade has been under the shadow of death.
This is no exaggeration, despite my emotional state. My state;
this place that pleads common-wealth
but portrays next-to-nothing like that. I pour
out energy like libations, praying in my way
for protection & defense of covenant-blood family.
Weary bones have no strength left to summon water
to eyes, despite the bodily abundance. Texas
wanted to pay bounties
to those who report women
who simply keep uterine sovereignty
past six weeks. I have three
unopened packs of morning-after blessings.
I have friends
who have friends, funds, and connections
even in these years of plague.
I could dissemble in dry sobs,
but instead, close my eyes & feel for deities’ light:
there; Freyja seethes, Frigga soothes,
& Eir resignedly shoulders her herb-basket
palms her sickle and sets off,
humming a tune that somehow reminds:
only we can make this right.