Surfacing – Stefanie Kirby

I woke up afraid I’d bled through the skin of my body.

The furniture wept at the sight of all that blood. Breakfast: egg, berries bloodied, thawed.

The egg softened into an eye. It spit pits & pieces.

It held itself above its melt like a head.

To go under again would be to drown, to become eye-less like pearls, a mattress, a womb.

It’s hard to eat everything at once.

lt’s hard to pull sheets tight under a body that shifts & turns bloodless.

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