16.05.19 - 10:26 a.m.

was this how my mother felt, when she wrapped me in the comforter from my bed and buckled me into her passenger seat at 2, at 2 am when the coffee’d been killed and the stamps used up? she would fold the mimeographed phone tree, splotched with sloshed something, pocked and peppered with pinpoint burns where ash fell as she talked about the ERA, about where to procure that suction machine it’s a machine she said, when I asked, that you insert into a uterus, to take out the tissue. Some women don’t want a baby.