It was a Sunday,
She was induced in a manner
Painless as being stuck with a thousand knives.
Calm like a running stream returned.
Reinduction came with flames that dwarfed Sunday’s wrath.
‘Help me,’ she wailed.
‘Get it out of me.’
A symphony of pain and unabashed transparency.
And his cry tore through the womb.
A new family.
“I have a gift and I must use it. I have a voice and I must be heard.” – the writer