Once she was a mystery of life.
Now she is skyping with her friend
They are both childless.
It rings a hollow tone: childless.
No longer a mystery of life.
Just less. She found stretch mark cream in an Airbnb bathroom.
It was just cream. Rubbing it on her belly, she felt nothing
I was just an accident
I was just an accident
I was just an accident, even to myself
She is curious about crying *******.
To her friend she finds herself saying:
I wonder how I have managed to avoid conceiving,
You know, by accident.
So many years. So little fruit.
You know, maybe I would have just kept it.
"Probably I can't even do it", she says
She eats dried figs from a container
I was an accident
I was just an accident
Once I was an accident, and a mystery of life
Once I made people believe in miracles, or God, or love
I was the hour of the star, I was the hour of the star
I moved like a jellyfish
I smelled of nothing
She was told she was the closest her mother came to magic.
She is made for other things.
Born for cubist yearnings. Born to write. Born to burn
She is an accident (She is an accident)
She is an accident (Flesh in dissent)
She is an accident
A curious androgyne
She is an accident (She is an accident)
Flesh in dissent
Flesh in dissent