Postpartum leanings: an act of three parts becoming nothing. Part? :for those violated but left alive

postpartum gleanings:

an act of three parts becoming nothing

part ?

for those violated but left alive

there are no birth records to claim,

wave,

exclaim, this is me,

aren’t my footprints cute?

There is no self-realization before this Time

she birthed herself- skyclad, word pressed,

as Goddesses are want to do

Nammu

Ianna

Asherath

Nuit

those birthing pains have not subsided,

finger snapping pangs in rhythm,

Hobble skirted anomaly in a hobo jungle

with a refugee’s Magick of invisibility;

smaller than Alice, unnoticed, presumed Safe

silence is not golden- it’s our Communal death

from inside out, darker than eyelids or dirt.

i smell of Lilith‘s ghost;

Canaanite rain on fertile thighs, desire, wanting…

now a salted field, left by too-rough others