[Poem]
The nail technician pushes my cuticles back, turns my hand over, stretches the skin on my palm and says:
"I see your daughters, and their daughters."
That night in a dream the first girl emerges from a slit in my stomach
The scar heals into a smile
The man I love pulls the stitches out with his fingernails
We leave black sutures curling on the side of the bath
I wake as the second girl crawls headfirst up my throat
A flower blossoming out of the hole in my face