Sosha Pinson


i sit with cupped hands full
of baby piss & i guess it started after
the due date passed praying
for the bloody show begging
for labor welcoming water breaking when
i learned the body bows to no one's will except
the doctor with her amnio-hook
the pop & gush & stern looks
the green tinge of meconium
that first bowel movement
& they assure me he'll be fine
& the puppy pads under my tush
fill with blood & amniotic fluid
& more blood & more fluid
until there is no more, until his heart rate
is down & he is distressed & they
fill me with synthetic fluid to keep
him comfortable & wait & now
my hands are cupping piss
wiping spit-up milk, wiping leaking milk
from my stomach, wiping his milk-drunk
half-asleep baby face & i sit gingerly
while my body keeps bleeding & his eyes
are matted with gunk that i try to scrape
from his tiny lashes & his poop is liquid
mustard squirting & his dried up belly button scab
slips from his body onto the printed star
swaddling blanket like a tiny black hole
which was once a gateway of fluid passing
between us but now holds nothing
no fluid, no skin, no gravity at all & i toss it
with the dirty diaper

Sosha Pinson is a poet who calls Eastern Kentucky home. She received her MFA in poetry from Drew University and her poems have recently been published in Minerva Rising, The Wide Shore, Still: The Journal, and others. She is enjoying adjusting to being a new mom of a wonderful baby boy.

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