The scar of an unformed heart imprinted on the inside of her womb
like a tattoo
scattered beats fingernailing tallys underneath the bone cage of her jailer ribs
as handcuffs police chopstick wrists to her kidneys, the weight of stone
boulders dragged to the floor of her pelvis.
cells aren't baby f(o)eet(us).
& they're forcing her into shackles -
so she's bleeding iron as red as the rust
that manacles her ankles when she menstruates.
Society would preach ownership of her calendar
so many mouths, so many tongues, so many palms, so many preachers trespassing
their beliefs and psalms onto her body
beating the truncheons of their business over