“After the Blood” and Other Poems

Golden shovel after Ada Limón

I know your cycles better than my own, have learned how
to hold yours reverent—oh carrier of our blood, my
goddess of maxi pads. Together we untether the wish of our own
little scorpio, their lush dark, marvel at how your body
makes light and release all the same—empty
of an idea’s blood. Together we attend to you like ritual—rooibos, clean
blankets & real housewives of
Salt Lake City. You trust your body’s heartless secrets;
I trust my hips know how to hold a baby; even my irrelevant womb knows
how to hold a wish. A period becomes our metric, mirroring how
your cramps churn, bringing my body to
yours. Our bodies are different now—yours knows how to carry
a clump of raspberry cells; mine knows to hold you.