groan and heave in heavy labor.
When my body slid into
transition, down that steep moraine,
the midwife murmuring
some pre-Latin Alpine language,
I shattered like that, too. Easier
the grief of words than any bone-
deep thaw, the afterbirth’s tossed
life-preserver, the slippery
untethered floe.

Photo by oliver.dodd

Eleanor Stanford
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