womb Soma I shiver in the dark. I'm sitting in the garage, under piles of blankets in the backseat my car because the latest viral outbreak has left me quarantined away from my housemate. I notice my lips are dry. I lick them. Sticky. I must be dehydrated. Was my heart always this loud? Why is my heart pounding anyways? Wait. That's right -- I'm on the phone. The small box trembles in my hand. Why am I trembling? It's cold. It's so cold. What did she say? I ask. She repeats, with a small sob this time. Automatically I say, "Don't worry, baby--" Baby. My mind gleefully tells me that 'baby' is an insane word to say at this time. I slap away the urge to laugh. It would just sound insane. "I'll take care of you." Inside I'm breaking apart, like the rain breaking free of the clouds up above us both. I'm wondering how you'll struggle when they take away a part of you that defines our gender. Will you be relieved? Sad? Healthy? Yes. That's the one we settle on. That's the one we want. Cancer is an ugly thing. But to me, baby, you will always be beautiful. 220108 ... unhinged (two women i know have also had preventative hysterectomies in the past year. our world is killing us through our most vulnerable parts) 220109 what's it to you? who go blather from