Poetry




Phoenix, Baby



                If I don’t have kids, God
will break the heavens open
and rain a lifetime of
brimstone on those bitter because
I don’t suffer a womb
swollen over with regret,
and instead am busy
grinding my soul into powder,
mixing it with my boyfriend’s
day-old piss, and chugging
the whole damn thing.


 
 
Abigail Krupnick