“MURDERER"
index fingers besiege her, pointed
to her eyebrows creased with months
that somehow rounded
into her taut
stomach
she remembers how her friends reacted
they took one downward
glance
and took off, just how she
snapped the double-lined drugstore
test into the murky water
and flushed
seventy-three
times
the wax paper
she crinkled up into fists congested
the toilet bowl to its
brim and for a moment her
inflation found its
match
I’m too young, I’m too young, God please
she hurled herself against the stall door
and almost felt each trimester
trickle down her
thigh
and plunged the bottom of
her torn up sandal on the lever
there was only words that
gave her the courage to exit the women’s
bathroom, readjust her hair, lather soap
in the hand that was
hers
the diaphragm, a witness to all
vomited a shriek as she
took one glance at the headline years
later
her mother called soon after to mourn
with the woman widowed from her body
in the crossroads of those unwilling to
divorce themselves from
arms
if only the black-robed justices could
picture, for one brief moment when the nitrile
gloves extracted the fetus was life not
emptied but
began