In/Continent

You blue truth
hot               small droplet
in my belly    starless

dense earth stacks up
the body        in the body
the stunning throbs of gravity

then water
then mother
then water

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Continent (noun)

1. Any of the world’s main continuous expanses of land

from the Latin terra continens

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A woman’s throat
parallels her pelvis

an empty nest dangling
over a frozen pond

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It opens          I scream
The currents come,
separating you from me.

Spraying ancient grief
into the air, a dolphin
swims between us   measuring distance
in ultrasound

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I thought God’s hands
reached through the sky and cut out
the continents with scissors,
before I knew the straining
that wrenches
earth               from other earth,

bones separate         and splay
giving way    a dark, shocking globe
emerges

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And I thought the fists of men
could split me, before I knew
it would be you—tiny child—
and this way
that the waves break
the body into
agony and angels

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when I say break
I mean tear
stitches
sitz baths flower
petals
warm salt
water my mother
lowering me in
naked, nothing
and everything
sacred

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It takes nine months
for me to remember
my pelvis. My body
forgotten now that no one
drinks from it
and no one drinks
it in. Creaks
and rivers, it heavies
and hangs on. It leaks
a new wetness
dampening me.

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The physical therapist asks, have you started using pads?
Once you start it’s hard to stop.

I say no but I don’t tell her
I’ve learned the location
of every clean bathroom
in thirty miles, bought an extra
6-pack of panties
to keep in the glove box.

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Continent (adjective)

1. Able to control movements of the bowels and bladder
2. Exercising self-restraint, especially sexually

from the Latin continere—holding together

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I’ve blurred and panicked
Dropped breath and hell-bent

I’ve writhed and cupped
my hand between my legs
to stop it

Clenched my eyes so hard
I’ve seen the stars explode

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Snow in October,
but the earth is burning,

forgetting her own name.

My face red, I fumble
my coat around my waist
in the checkout line, distracting
my mind from your sippy cup.

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What good is the body
that replaced sweet milk
with yellow vinegar?

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I used to be an unlit match, ready
to burn for any man, ready
for any hand to reach inside
and get my body back
to holy, an endless river
of screams to God, to Baby

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The ocean rises
sighs
and rises higher

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A glacier melts
in Antarctica,
trickles down
my thigh.