What Do You Take

Emily Koehn

I walked you out into the fortress of living biology. I cramped biology to the toilet, and there was a lot of blood. I took biology to the pharmacy and said, Give me more of these eggs please. I took my womb then to the moon and said, Don’t I matter? I took the moon into a picture, and I drew her yellow. I made the sun stream my nose and glass my glasses so that my eyes were so dry I felt that dry. I felt dry inside, my eyes. Everywhere I looked I could see your skin. I could imagine touching that skin. I took my fertility to the grass and offered my basket and said, Let’s have a picnic. And I made tea and scones and they were amazing. I can really bake. I can really make this stand for the gut feeling you have when leaning over the deathbed of the neighbor of the son of the bed of the death. I took the balloons over to the birth instead. I took the present over to the birth. I took the friends and the fire and the grass and the picnic again. I took myself and then I left myself. I left radiant and figured and lost and yes, lost, that’s what it is, it’s loss.


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