Hunter Blackwell

YOWL

mourning the night,
be it that
bones howl
in unknown echoes

hysteria-collapsed
wandering back to home
&
swollen-bellied, another day

curled in upon itself, heating
pads searing nerves

i’ve asked myself
who i am with no womb--
a genetic conception now on
surgery floors

a bed of everything
that could never be
a beating heart line sliced
out of abdomen
to metal slabs

a blanket of black ink
dated with a witness
a sterilized field

who will i be
after the anesthesia wears off