LOVE Poem: cesarean, by Bastet Zyla

they put a curtain up for my c-section
before throwing my guts on their table
i can hear the splatter
the blood on the floor
the wails of a child
cesarean born.
i can’t look.
i tune out the sobbing
trapped in this bed
i feel a hopeful touch
but my sex drive is dead.
i run my nails across my skin
back, shoulders, breasts, and arms
it all comes off blue and gray
i rot but there is no visible decay.
i’ve done so much shit wrong today
i have an itemized list
but at least i was too lazy to slit my wrists.
i want to, but my neck is so stiff that
i can’t look.
i don’t even know if the infant is alive because it doesn’t cry anymore
its skin could be smothered baby boy blue
or fevered baby girl pink
if it dies, then so do i
connected by a shoestring umbilical cord, so easily untied
but i can’t manipulate my fingers
out of their death grip on the particles of stale air
to separate our malformed souls
so i guess i’ll have to wait until the refuse of my ovaries turns gray in its grayer crib
or the string finally decides to unthread on its own.
until then,
i can’t look.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest