another period
two too many this year already
at first I think it is my ancient DNA
prescribing precision cuts by a medical man
to balance my humours
to bleed me back to health
and then I see it is a period of mourning
that spins and repeats and begins again
as if my grief has reached for the moon and pulled him close
or somehow condensed weeks into days
lusting after cycles
straining for the refrain
like my womb is trying to keep pace
with a heart aged by loss
and eyes that have grown cataracts over the world
another period
two too many this year already
yes, it begins again
and my body
my beautiful body
she knows
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