When Noah cleaved the water with his ark
he expected the animals to save him.
Once, my mother convinced me a c-section
was just Moses parting women’s inner seas,
that magic thrived in the things
we didn’t know how to name.
It was always breaking something
that undid you.
The coke into lines with the blade,
a heart, the horizon, the yolk.
Back at detox I knew
you wished to find a way back in
to the place she birthed you from,
to stay quiet like a stone
in the belly of an ocean.
We expected you to save yourself too
and in the end it flooded.