of: Ovulation

at the turn of each moon
my ovaries take a stand
against my ego - a wall of 
water, a saline fog that 
stings the eyes like an
afterthought, it breaks in
the same foolish way we
take for granted the
smooth, involuntary breaths
of our lungs until our sinuses
filled & swollen
remind us to be humble.
my ovaries take turns
left, right, ebb, tide, they
whisper in contractions:
you seem to be too comfortable
we'll help you recall.
in this, at least, they are
certain and precise, their love
brutal and bloody, a wave
sure to hit, a swell
certain to break, leaving behind
a beach of overturned memories
and half-moods, with no pearls 
to salvage, but sand so fine it
clings and falls into places 
we still don't know the names 
of, wave after wave after wave
if i were a ship, and you scoured
the shore you'd only find
driftwood for bones, speckles of
dust would trail thinly in the water 
bringing me back to the sea. until
the week is over, and 
my cervix rises again, waned
and waxed, clean and crescent, with
panties poorly bleached
a smear of pink-brown, like a 
forming scar, reminding me 
to hold my breath 
and stay humble

“lessons in discomfort pain” - published online by LandLocked Magazine, 2020

nominated for the 2020 Best of the Net Anthology