See how she lies for the first time on the earth that grew her:

A newborn on her mother's stomach, an old woman to her relief?

How faithfully that grainy womb recorded her reaching -

like me, she lifted her limbs to the light but was held by her feet.

In the cold of her own rings expanding, she blithely lived. We take her

in pieces now to warm us, sliding her with chains. I have

learned to welcome the sap of the shared wound.

Sometimes, I return in stains.