Published September 1, 2021
by Alana Dunlop
(Montreal, Quebec, Canada)
i know you as the
dont-wanna-put-anything-in-my-womb
lover,
like hands slipping on silk
like the face smiling up from my thighs.
the right to bare arms;
shallow water.
when we touch trains crash
in freak accidents
everyone takes the day off work.
you are calm spreading
through my every bone,
relaxing leukocytes.
we equate antimatter to oranges,
the start of the universe an
irrelevant piece of time.
the end,
the same,
matter contracting to nothing.
we contract.
wombs contract
(they do, right?)
and someone worries
about blood loss,
messages just scratching the surface,
the don't-wreck-the-womb lover
that just
expelled a child instead of
ejaculate
and now you're growing up
not knowing how to touch this thing.
well,
i know you as the
window-tapping-disaster,
leaving-you-is-hell,
and me,
i suppose the
don't-wreck-my-womb lover;
not infertile
but unwilling
and serene.
Biography
Alana Dunlop is a McGill University student and a self-proclaimed Montrealer (raised in Ontario). Her work has appeared in Open Book Magazine and PACE Magazine. She has written enough poetry to completely fill a studio apartment.
Previously published in Montreal Poetry Magazine:
"leaving you" by Alana Dunlop
Montreal Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
(Advertisements)