TWICE

me and my empty womb go on a walk with you it’s the winter and it’s central park my boots slash my feet at the heels and toes when i get home i will run a warm bath peel off the bloodied socks and my roommate will complain about the water bill which i always pay on time there are shivering ducks on the pond and you smell of clean laundry when our arms brush we never mention it again i joke i could name a child after you and you laugh snow falls on your olive green coat your near-perfect back which i picture when it gets dark in my room and i get restless

a nurse brings me water when i faint nauseated by red specks and unscrubbed floors of the waiting room she tells me i’m too young to sleep that little or to bear a child at home i lay down on the sheets i forgot to wash because the laundromat is so crowded