Darling girl,
never got in trouble,
except for not listening
to mother’s words.

She doesn’t understand
why her stomach trips
over its own two feet
spilling out into the toilet.

She doesn’t understand
the weight she has put on
calling it college pounds.
Praying it is college pounds.

The sonogram shows
something she never dreamed:
a parasite fidgeting inside,
molding into a person.

She flutters into tears.
She never wanted this.
Nor thought it was possible:
“You can’t your first time.”

No money for an abortion,
but coat hangers are free.
Digging and scratching.
bleeding and screaming.

No longer a will to live
(barren, ripped, torn, infected)
she’s got an umbilical chord,
one of her own.