& 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…
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