1 out of 10
There are small pixies
flying around my uterus,
igniting micro-fires in protest
at my womanhood.
The flames fester around
my ovaries too.
But that is just the beginning.
Sometimes, the pixies pull elfin daggers
from their belts and stab
the undersides of my ovaries.
The blood pours out in
stringy red ribbons, which spiral
and coagulate in my abdomen.
Three years ago the doctors
discovered the pixie colony.
They showed me pictures
of my insides, all flesh
and gloss. They told me that
they ablated the tiny civilization
that had rooted inside me.
But sometimes, I still feel
their titchy flames rupture
and burn and destroy and torture
my womb.
Stargazing After a Laparoscopy
I have three small scars
on my abdomen which
form the constellation of my suffering.
Standing in Line on Black Friday
You made Abby look fat,
only her.
We all thought so,
why didn’t you post
the other picture?
Hannah bought these
and they made
her butt
look
hot.
I stashed my empty
White Claw cans in
my closet before
my grandma went into
my room.
Is he gay?
Did you even have to
Ask the question?
Why do you always-?
Do you think that if I ask the question again they will answer me?
Will I be heard, or drowned? My comments are buried under the
words of men. What if we-? How come-? Cut off before I can
realize I am secondary. I give birth to stillborn thoughts.
Lily Foguth is an English graduate student at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. She has a concentration on early American literature and hopes to be received into a PhD program upon graduation. Lily writes short stories and poetry in her down-time. She lives in Michigan with her partner and their two cats, Willow and Wallace.
Chris Murray 