By Margaret Van Every


Foot and fist embossed on the belly,

time came when the womb had had

its fill of you, your punch and kick.

The membrane that once swaddled

you so sweetly, now a shrink-wrapped 

garment was, binding foot against face.

Coiled homunculus ached to unfold 

like buds, leaves, and wings.

But humans

cannot uncoil with balletic grace

like nature’s other tight new things.  

The solo journey to light, so smothering, 

crushing and hot, delivers the fetus 

by force and presages future travel 

to unknowable states of being.


April 2022 Issue

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