poem to my uterus

you uterus

you have been patient

as a sock

while i have slippered into you

my dead and living children

now

they want to cut you out

stocking i will not need

where i am going

where am i going

old girl

without you

uterus

my bloody print

my estrogen kitchen

my black bag of desire

where can i go

barefoot

without you

where can you go

without me