Lady Justice Holds Her Balance Like It’s My Bag of Trash
Lady justice holds her balance like it’s my bag of trash–
two iron tubes two empty organs dangling
a middle pregnant with blood
Once a month her blindfold is a gift
My thicker body pills fabric in the places I sweat best
My thighs wring and all the while I speak to them sweetly –
Darlings no need to come clean about an act of love
No need to say you’re sorry for falling down the stairs of forecast and fate
Nobody arches the back when stabbed in the gut
but I do
Confused blueprint Inanimate instinct Mangled spine wire–
can’t seem to curl like a pill bug protecting
Voted most likely to kill a cactus I skipped class the day God made the uterus
Now my arms only curve to cup a leftover belly
I rock it and I sing to it
I read that dying plants will grow again in the soil of a wanting voice
Cyndie Randall’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Crab Creek Review, Love’s Executive Order, Whale Road Review, Boston Accent Lit, Okay Donkey, Mojave Heart Review, Yes Poetry, and others. She works as a therapist and plays among the Great Lakes. Connect with her on Twitter @CyndieRandall or at cyndierandall.com