“At nights birds hammered my unborn”

At nights birds hammered my unborn child’s heart to strength, each strike bringing bones and spine to glow, her lungs pestled loud as the sea I was raised a sea anemone among women who cursed their hearts out, soured themselves, never-brides, into veranda shades, talcum and tea moistened their quivering jaws, prophetic without prophecy. Anvil-black, gleaming garlic nubs, the pageant arrived with sails unfurled from Colchis and I rejoiced like a broken asylum to see burning sand grains, skittering ice; shekels clapped in my chest, I smashed my head against a lightbulb and light sprinkled my hair; I rejoiced, a poui tree hit by the sun in the room, a man, a man.