And what of these scissors and visions
of cutting off fingers as if cutting cashmere --
the crisp snip and knowledge
that something expensive has been ruined?
This, in the anxiety of horror movies,
is a matter of wringing gentle necks
and then breathing new life into lusterless bodies
with some great mouth of room exhales.
How do we exacerbate, limn love into purle pajamas?
It is my own neck that I consider feeble
and that of this newborn, stronger than diamond,
and I so willingly give my life to her
or her mother, more exposed to a parade of professionals.
It is my own neck that I long to cut
in order to wipe the inhumanity from delivery.
It is hard to realize my capacity for love
in a moment so torn, so bloody, and so foreign.
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