Blood always comes with birth… by Carol Forrester
How even when we whispered it
there was someone shushing
our small mouths
with calloused fingers.
Pressing the words back inside
as if they were Ouranos
horror struck but what we birthed
in those terrible, unspeakable words.
Filling our bellies
with ideas we were not allowed
to give life to.
Until we burst from the ineffable
and held it screaming
before their faces.
Made them look
at what we’d made.
