Everything is fine with me it's
the year of my murder-
it's the year of my death
by water
by submitting
to the depth
it's the year of my depth.
Remember our bodies clashing
Remember our families mating
Remember how I looked
when I
floated to the top
bloated, but still pink
still full of fertility
in the year of my death.
And this,
twenty fourth year of 3
one hundreds and a couple of moons
I find myself symbolic.
This year I become Mother
but not of my womb.
This death I give myself
to be carefilled and ripe
to every _ _ _ _ _ dying.
