antepartum
a witch is everything a mother is not i curdle
my screams make reverse-milk
i bathe in not-blood & advent my trimesters
the afterbirths strung up on the wall
how can i build my house out of sweets un-shoe our roofing
& live to tell the tale? i am not
the one who winds up figuring
what kind of fairest-of-all / what kind of deep stare
into the mirror of the lake i’ll be
once you’re born
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