Her body doesn’t belong to her although hard-wired in, she shuts it away tucking it neatly under the covers and going about her business. It belongs to spring flowers body blossoming in her absence, skin awash with blooming spots of purple vivid reds and mottled greens new life sprouting in a seed stained apartment. It belongs to exertion and apologies being taken apart in the dark, dripping heavy tobacco sweat an ashtray for limbs put out all over her skin. It belongs to lurid plastic capsules bottled up avoidance, pop ‘em, honey, senses dulling another night ended. It belongs to the rare doctor’s visits a check-up, a look in, to find flesh turned machine clanking, programmed to perform with clinical precision. It belongs to the pair of beasts with red-stained maws who sneer at their one-hour plaything, while each heavily drawn mouth grapples to get the last word in. It belongs to a regular wretch laden heavy with his father’s lessons, burgeoning and beseeching scratchy-faced and thank God it’s easy to please him. It belongs to the men who sit back smiling cruel with their black biros, comfortable in their armchairs writing curses they call legislation. It belongs to a single bed and a pillow shared by two, made up lullabies and snuffly breaths and two teddies happily hugging. It belongs to the kick in her belly and a small hand in her own, a cold room with a warm, tender creature asking quietly to be tucked in.
Featured photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash.