How womanly it is to be tucked
away in a small hospital bathroom
I can’t accept is big enough for us.
The words crawl over your teeth
and out your lips to hang like strips
of wallpaper. I stuff a towel in
my mouth and scream. Your eyes
well up with all that history trickling
out as black pearls. Guilt is addictive.
I sense the effort it took you to feel.
Your own face withers and turns down.
How dry my mouth has become.
I want to ask you to leave,
but I’m still screaming.