Twenty-Two

I am trying to bear a child before my grandmother dies. No secretly slipped condom, no clenching cum like a bite of water, no. Rather I scour subways for a mate, reach for the crisis of give or keep so that in her life, my second-womb, my ultra-mother, might have a four-generation photo to email New Mexico’s Maureen. So that Mimi, my one-queen, my heart’s graffiti, can die in quiet disaster, spilling from this planet to that, secure in the decision of her progeny. And if, in these formative years of her aging, in these unraveling ones of mine,...

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