ISSUE 7

Annelise Royles

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If and When / My Body is Inhospitable

A friend, once: human blood is at least 60% water.

A doctor, blandly: “if and when” I am pregnant I will inject the tender part of my belly with blood thinners
twice a day to prevent
                                 a life-threatening blockage, quietly: snuggle into my heart, lung(s), or brain.

If / when I fuck a man without a condom if / when I keep the baby I take the blood thinners but absolutely must stop taking them before I bleed out during delivery if / when I breastfeed like a real mom I needle myself again until prescribed non-estrogen birth control to prevent another risky pregnancy if / when my daughter starts her period at eleven I explain that she needs to monitor how much blood she loses each day if / when she asks why I think about my mom’s four miscarriages but instead I tell her that Mamie had endometriosis if / when she asks why I tell her that her aunt also has it if / when she asks for a sibling I say no and withhold that I would likely not survive the pregnancy.

If / when she walks away, I cry.
 

                                 My blood is her blood: it’s at least 60% water ​

                                 something else of mine / hers isn’t right.​​​

 

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