& she shall be named beautiful

She did not want this           the gods never listen—
the babe in her arms          was a silent accusation.

Wet wings flapped the            window pane—some
angel fallen with the           storm. In the sky winged

insects battered into           puddles           waiting for
fluorescence to make          them dance

          entranced          until death. She watched the
flicker of eyelids          the wide stare so knowing

          the sudden yawn           & felt her heart trip
on its feet. Oh she did          not want this. The

storm ceased its squabbling           the sun warmed
the bed          she held her          index finger inside

her babe’s small grip—so           perfect           she said.
Beautiful           I name you           she whispered.

He came in           a wet work           doors barking at his
heels           sighted her—a girl           again           he said.

Flippant           we will call…