The Absent Piece Of Flesh

Amma,
I reserve the right to call you thus,
To make you remember I was born,
From the flesh and blood of a womb your own,
Seeped in your sweat, the fluids of your loins,
That I was not bloodied, unwanted flesh
To be smothered with my first faltering cry.

Amma,
I remember the night all too well,
The hut at the edge of the village,
The howling winds, the darkened sky,
The pillow that pressed over my mouth,
The black night descending to my eyes,
My legs and arms dancing in the throes of death,
I remember the cord that joined me to you,
Still intact while I slowly turned blue.

Amma,
I cant forget the shadows on your face,
The loathing and the fear creeping in your eyes,
When you first looked between my legs,
And sealed my fate with a shake of the head,
I still dream that there had been,
A smudge of grief somewhere within.

Amma,
Before maggots devour all that is left of me,
And my bones crumble to fine sawdust,
I curse you to think of me every time,
-Of my lolling tongue and my foaming mouth-
While you lie unmoving on your bed,
Under the heaves and brutish grunts of your man,
Hoping for the stars for once to bless,
Your womb with that absent piece of flesh.