— Rachel Edelman

after ‘Night Repairs’ by Molly Spencer

Long canoe of the womb,
eddy out;

the river is dropping.
                 the turtles

have tucked away
for the evening.

The moon beams
back at herself

from the belly of a current
you were barely scraping by on.

Womb, wait where you won’t mind
the gravelly shudder.

Don’t ask
if our erosion

is a die-off.
Don’t ask if we’ve arrived

at our dead end.

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